Hostage
by TrevorPhilipsIndustries
Summary: Tara lives a normal, vanilla life with her boyfriend Patrick in the city of Los Santos, until her boyfriend develops a problem and owes someone money. That someone is Trevor Philips, and he's willing to do whatever it takes to get his money, even if it means holding someone hostage.
1. Trevor's New Guest

My boyfriend was a pretty vanilla guy. He grew up in a normal home with a normal family, naturally turning him into a fairly normal guy. He worked in HR for a real estate agency down the street from our apartment, where I spent my hours painting and studying art. We were both college students, as well. He led a busy life; mine was a bit slower paced. It was a regular life; one I was satisfied with.

I could picture our future. We would get married someday, have a few kids, and settle down on the outskirts of the city. I would be lying if I said I hadn't occasionally pictured a more exciting life; one full of twists and turns and unexpected adventures. But I couldn't complain. Patrick was a great boyfriend. He worked hard to bring home a good paycheck. He was gentle and kind and supportive.

It was seven at night, and I sat at the kitchen table, eating dinner alone. I was used to spending time on my own. Patrick took evening classes after work, leaving me to my own devices for dinner most nights.

I heard the front door open and slam shut, and I jumped at the sudden noise. "Patrick?" I asked cautiously. He was home early.

Something felt off. There was no answer when I called out his name again, just shuffling noises from the foyer. I swallowed hard and poked my head around the corner.

"Who the fuck are you?!" I screeched. In front of me stood a middle-aged man in dirty old clothes and filthy looking work boots. He looked disheveled, and completely crazed. His eyes screamed 'psychopath' and my heart dropped as I took in the sight before me.

"Well, hellooo, beautiful," he purred. He was completely unbothered by the fact that I had grabbed the vase sitting on the nearest flat surface and held it in the air defensively. I was ready to swing. He didn't care.

"Who are you?!" My voice was shaky and weak, though I tried to force it out from the back of my throat.

He smiled a toothy grin at me. "Name's Trevor, sweetheart. What's yours?"

I held out the glass vase in front of me, warning him not to come any closer. I tried to look as menacing as possible. At 5'1'' and 120 pounds, that wasn't easy. "Get out!" I shrieked.

He chuckled to himself and rolled his eyes up to the ceiling. "I can't do that," he mused. "See, your boyfriend owes me money. A lot of it, actually."

"W-what? For what?"

"Ohhh," he exhaled slowly. For just having broken into someone's home, this man was way too calm. "You don't know. Your boyfriend's got a little problem with the crystal. I take it you haven't found his meth pipe yet. Sorry to be the one to tell ya."

My heart stopped. There was no way Patrick would have gotten involved with drugs. I couldn't believe it; my mind wouldn't let me. "Bullshit," I retorted, trying to push back my fear of this man.

"Look, gorgeous," he sighed, "I don't have time to argue with ya. I'm gonna need the money he owes me or I'm gonna have to take drastic measures." What the fuck did that mean? Would he kill Patrick? Would he kill me? If he was planning to rob me, he would leave empty-handed. I didn't have so much as a five dollar bill on me.

"I don't have any money," I told him softly, my eyes suddenly welling up with tears. This was it. This would surely be the death of me.

"Well then, let's go." He lurched forward and grabbed my arm tightly. I instinctively tried to pull away from him, but his grip was too tight. Where was he going to take me? What was he going to do to me?

"No! Let go of me!" I dug my heels into the ground and fought against his grip. In one quick motion, he lifted me off the ground and tossed me over his shoulder. The upper half of my body hung limply against him, and I let out a strangled yell as I slammed my fists into his back.

He let out a low growl and swung me back over his shoulder, planting me firmly on the ground in front of him. I stared at the floor by his boots, not wanting to look him in the eye. I was sure this was the moment he would kill me.

"Fucking look at me!" His voice had become serious, and he thundered over me as he spoke again. "You listen to me. You're going to get in my truck and you're going to shut the hell up and do what I say! Unless, of course, you want to see your boyfriend in a shallow grave."

Tears spilled out onto my cheeks, and I stared past him at the photos on the wall. Patrick and I looked so happy in them. And now I was going to die for the mistakes that my boyfriend had made. Why hadn't he told me about this? He had never kept things from me before.

"Hey!" Trevor barked. "Quit spacin' out! Do you understand me?!" I stared back down at my feet and nodded silently. "I said, do you understand me?" He was growing angrier with me by the second.

"Yes," I whimpered. He reached for my arm again, and I allowed him to lead me out the front door and to the parking lot. I stared at my own car in desperation. If only I had my keys on me, I could have fought my way out of his grip and driven off. He pushed me into the passenger seat of a dirty old red truck and slammed the door behind me.

I thought of screaming. Someone would surely hear me. We lived in a big apartment building. But he would kill me. I knew that much. I stayed quiet as he drove off. My heart pounded against my ribcage as the silence between us grew deafening.

"Where are you taking me?" I asked him softly.

"Don't ask questions. All you need to worry about is your boyfriend paying off what he owes me. You can go home after that."

I still had a chance. He was going to let me live. But Patrick and I were always tight on money, and from the sounds of it, he owed Trevor a lot.

I stared out at the changing landscape as he drove. We were heading towards the desert. I had never been so far north of the city. The further he drove, the more and more dilapidated the buildings around us looked. Trevor's truck sputtered to a stop in front of a beat up old trailer. It looked abandoned, but all of the lights were on.

"Where are we?"

He let out a frustrated huff and rolled his eyes at me. "I thought I told you, no fucking questions. Now let's go. Try and run, and I'll blow out your kneecap. Maybe both of 'em. I don't like hurtin' women, but I'll do it if I have to."

I swallowed hard, and forced myself to nod at him. I stood up on shaky legs and followed him into the trailer. It was absolutely filthy. I couldn't believe that someone could live that way. Trash was scattered about the place; mostly beer bottles, pizza boxes and takeout bags. Most of the furniture looked as if it were two seconds away from breaking. Dust and dirt covered nearly every surface.

"Sit down," he ordered. I followed his instructions, taking a seat on the dilapidated couch pushed up against the back wall. I clasped my hands together, picking at my cuticles nervously.

"Ron! Get your sorry ass over here!" He hollered out the front door. I watched as an older looking man stumbled into the trailer, looking almost as scared as I felt. He looked at me through thick rimmed glasses. I looked back at him through mine. Life had clearly beaten the hell out of this guy. He wore two knee braces, and picked at a scab on his face as he glanced between Trevor and I.

"Ronald," Trevor spoke his name. "We've got a guest staying with us for a while. This is-" He stopped dead in the middle of his sentence and looked at me in curiosity. "What the hell is your name?"

"Tara," I answered softly. I thought about lying, but he already knew where I lived; I didn't care if he knew my name.

"Ah. This is Tara. I expect you to make her feel at home while she's here. Don't let me catch you slacking off or I'll cut your fuckin' arm off; got it?"

Ron nodded frantically, before making a beeline back to the front door. "I'll go get her something to eat," he said quickly. Trevor shot him a thumbs up before the door slammed shut.

I had expected to be chained up or locked in somewhere; treated like a prisoner. Instead, Trevor had someone going out to pick up takeout for me. He threw himself down onto the couch next to me and handed me the TV remote. He looked at me expectantly as I slowly turned it over in my hand.

"Well? Put something on."

I nodded and pointed the remote at the little TV in the corner. I stared at the screen, flipping through the TV guide for what felt like hours.

"Jesus Christ," he huffed, "Just pick something out." I shrugged at him nervously, gripping the remote with white knuckles. "That's it, you lost your chance. We're watching Impotent Rage."


	2. Settling In

Trevor made up a makeshift bed for me on the couch. I guess you could call it a bed; there was a pillow and a sheet and that was about it. Though his couch looked to be on its last leg, it wasn't entirely uncomfortable to sleep on.

I thought about running in the middle of the night. I probably would have if I had known anything about the area. It was pretty barren, and I would have had no idea where to go to ask for help. Surely he would have found me and killed me by the time I got my bearings out there.

"Hello, lady." I heard an unfamiliar voice wake me from my sleep. I cracked my eyes open to find a man sitting at the end of the couch, staring at me. He wore baggy clothes, piercings and dreadlocks. He looked... rough.

"Hi...?" I fished around on the floor next to me, feeling for my glasses. I pushed them onto my face, and looked at him. He was smiling at me as if we were old friends. "Can I help you?" I asked.

"I'm Wade," he told me. "Trevor told me to stay here and watch you while he's gone. What's your name?" He spoke to me in a childlike manner, almost as if he were a bit... slow on the uptake.

"I'm Tara."

He smiled at me again. "I brought over some leftover pizza if you want some," he offered. I shook my head, forcing a weak smile back at him.

"Wade... Is Trevor going to kill me?" My voice shook as I ended my sentence, and he looked at me with confidence.

"I don't think so. He just wants what he was promised. Trevor don't take kindly to people going back on their promises. Do you owe him money?"

"My boyfriend does." I pushed myself up onto my elbows and took the sheet with me as I sat upright.

"Oh. I don't think Trevor'll kill you. He don't like disrespectin' women." He paused, staring off into space, completely unphased by the conversation. I gathered from his tone that this was normal behavior for Trevor. "He might kill your boyfriend, though."

My heart sped up suddenly. I had been so afraid of getting killed that I had barely thought of the danger that Patrick might be in. I had no idea what Trevor's capabilities were like. He could have had other men working for him in the city; ones who would be on the lookout for my boyfriend.

"Wade, get the fuck out!" Trevor came barreling into his trailer, startling both Wade and I. He turned his attention to me, looking at me calmly. "Get dressed. We're going out."

"Where are we going?" I called out to him through the bathroom door as I wriggled out of the oversized t-shirt he had lent me. There was a long silence as I pulled my shirt over my head.

"Jesus pogo-sticking Christ, what is with you and all the questions?" He shouted.

I pulled the bathroom door open and looked at him from across the room. He stood at the kitchen counter, scooping peanut butter directly from the jar into his mouth. He slapped his spoon down onto the counter and dropped the jar next to it, not bothering to put the lid back on.

"Come on, let's go." He waved me on, and I followed him out to his truck. He blared the radio on our way to his undisclosed destination, tapping his fingers against the steering wheel. I studied the building that we pulled up to a few minutes later. It looked like an old, abandoned liquor store. Though, to be fair, most buildings in the surrounding area looked abandoned.

He pulled me into the building by the wrist; firmly, but not tight enough to hurt. The place was even more of a wreck than his trailer. Everything looked broken; covered in dirt. It smelled strongly of some sort of chemical. Almost like ammonia.

Trevor led me upstairs into a large, mostly empty room, and sat me down at a little table in the middle. It was so filthy inside that I didn't want to touch anything.

I grew up in a nice, normal family. My mother kept an impeccably clean house, and that carried over to me. I had never seen squalor like this in my life. The room was dark and dingy and the air was thick with something that felt an awful lot like loneliness... Depression? A bit of both, I guess. This place hadn't seen happiness in a long time; that much was clear.

I looked at him with big eyes; filled with both fear and curiosity. He ignored my stare as he flipped through a pile of papers on the table. God, what was that smell?

"Chef, how's it goin', my friend?" Trevor called out seemingly to no one.

"Good, Trevor," the voice answered, "This new batch is comin' along real good if you wanna try it!"

Drugs. They were making drugs. This was a meth lab. God, twenty four hours ago, I was in my nice, clean apartment. Now I was sat at a broken down table in a meth lab. Great. Trevor disappeared into another room, leaving me alone. I sat there for what felt like a century. I could hear chattering in the next room over. Judging by what I could make out, I assumed they were getting high.

"Thank you, Chef!" Trevor re-emerged from the other room, his focus landing on me. "Alright. You. Let's go."

"Can you please tell me what's going on?" I spoke quietly, but feared I may have angered him as I stared up at him from my seat. "Please?" I squeaked. "I want to go home."

He rolled his eyes and let out an over-dramatic sigh. "Let me lay this out for you nice and clear, princess." He gesiculated wildly as he spoke. I could tell from his body language that he was annoyed with me. "That suit-wearing, pencil pushing yuppy boyfriend of yours owes me a lot of money. I'm sorry you didn't know about his little problem. Seriously; I am sorry. But as long as it takes him to pay me off, you're mine. I need leverage here, darlin'."

"I just want to go home," I pleaded, my eyes welling up with tears. He stared down at me with a blank expression, completely void of any emotion.

"Yeah, and I want for my best friend to not be a lazy, fat fuck living in his undeserved mansion in Rockford Hills. I want a hot piece of ass in my bed every night, ready to suck me off. But," he clapped his hands together, "We all want things we can't have, don't we?"

How could he talk to me like that? How could anyone be so cold? I swallowed my anger and pressed my lips together in a hard line, trying to hold back my tears.

"Let's go," Trevor spoke up. He led me back downstairs and out to his truck, where he slammed the passenger side door shut behind me as I buckled my seat belt.

"I know you said no questions," I began, watching the scenery, or lack thereof, pass by, "but where are we going?"

"Jesus," he growled. "You're really tryin' to piss me off, aren't ya?" I picked at a hang nail anxiously, waiting for him to speak up. "I was gonna go take you to get some clothes for while you're out here, but if you're gonna keep pushing my buttons, you can just wear that outfit every day. What's your decision?"

I was floored. Here he was, keeping me hostage, and yet he wanted to buy me clothes? I had expected to be sleeping in a locked room with no bathroom and no food.

"Th-that would be great," I stammered, "Thank you."

He brought me to a little thrift store in the next town over. Most of the clothes looked pretty rough; they had definitely seen better days. He looked at me impatiently when I asked him if I could try a few things on. I didn't mind much that they were well worn. I just wanted to make sure they fit.

"Goddamn, what do you think this is? They'll be fine. Let's go." He dropped a pile of cash onto the counter and walked me out by the arm.

Back at his trailer, he let me take a shower while he made himself busy with... Whatever it is that Trevor did. I stood in the shower, rubbing shampoo into my hair and reveling in the warm water. I felt grungy and the soap and water felt nice.

How was I going to get out of here? Clearly there was no way I could run and actually make it out alive. I was stuck here. Would Patrick ever come up with the money? Maybe his parents would help. All I knew was that I wanted to go home.

I slipped into a pair of worn out sweatpants and an old Love Fist shirt with what looked like a nacho cheese stain on the chest. Nice.

"Goddamn it, Wade!" Trevor barked as I opened the bathroom door. "How could you fuck this up? Let's go!" He turned his attention to me. I stood in the bathroom doorway, my hair still wrapped up in a towel.

"You!" He pointed a finger at me, clearly trying to think of what to say. "Don't fucking leave this trailer or you'll be in a world of hurt!"

I thought about leaving while he was gone. It would've been so easy to just walk out the door. Up until this point, he hadn't hurt me. Maybe he wouldn't even kill me if he caught me. I wasn't willing to take the risk.

It was uncomfortably quiet in the trailer. I searched through Trevor's cabinets and closets before finally finding a few spare sheets of paper and a pen. I sat at the rickety old table in the corner, sketching out whatever popped into my mind. Art was always my safe place. Gradually, I began to relax, forgetting about the mess around me. That is, until Trevor showed back up, letting the door slam behind him.

"What the hell is this?" He stomped over to me, staring down at the picture I had just sketched out. He stood behind me, furrowing his eyebrows, and squinted at the sheet of paper in front of me. "Is... Is that the lab?"

I stared up at him with big eyes. I nodded slowly. "It's just what came to me."

"You only saw it once. How did you draw it so well?" He actually sounded... Impressed. This was the first time I had heard him speak in a relaxed tone of voice. For once, he didn't seem angry.

I shrugged. "It's what I do. I'm an art major."

"Ah." He turned away from me, going to poke through the fridge. I watched him down the rest of a two liter of Sprunk before throwing the empty bottle back in the refrigerator. He had all of the worst habits I had ever seen.

I swallowed hard before breaking the silence. "Do you like it?"

"What?"

"The drawing. Do you like it?"

He yawned and rubbed his eyes. "Oh. Yeah, yeah. It's good."

I smiled to myself. Maybe he wasn't always angry. I could live with this Trevor. I mean, I'd obviously rather be back at home with Patrick, but at least I didn't fear for my life at the moment.

"I'm going to bed. You can watch TV or whatever if you want. Shout for Ron if you want something to eat. Otherwise, there's leftover Chinese in the fridge." He waved lazily at me as he left the room, slamming the bedroom door shut behind him. I don't think he knew how to close a door without slamming it.

I laid on the couch, wrapped up in my sheets, and flipped through the TV channels. There wasn't much on. It was still pretty early, but I decided to just try and sleep. Who knew what the next day would bring, anyways. It seemed everything was a surprise with Trevor.


	3. Tattoos

Trevor had taken to leaving me alone in his trailer pretty frequently. Storming out in a rage was a regular thing for him. I didn't ask questions. He didn't like questions.

I made myself busy while he was gone. I cleaned up his trailer, only for him to make a mess of it the next day. But I kept cleaning it up anyways. Admittedly, I sort of enjoy cleaning, especially when I'm bored. It's satisfying.

I had been out in the desert for a week, and nothing had changed in regards to me getting to go home. I had begun to worry that something much worse had happened to Patrick. Either he hadn't called, or Trevor was keeping things from me.

I missed my home. I missed Patrick. I missed my bed. I wanted to catch up on my schoolwork and go back to painting, rather than sketching out pictures with a blue pen and crumpled up paper.

I finally worked up the nerve to question Trevor when he came home around seven at night. "Trevor," I spoke up softly from my seat on the couch, "Has Patrick called you?"

"Hate to tell ya, princess, but I haven't heard a word from your precious boyfriend. Seems he doesn't care too much about you bein' out here." His words were cold and he seemed completely unphased. He leaned back against the counter and crossed his arms over his chest.

"He does care," I argued, "He must just be trying to come up with the money."

"Whatever helps you sleep at night," he shrugged.

"I really thought he'd contact you by now. Are you sure you didn't miss his call?" I was pushing my luck right now. I just couldn't help myself. I was growing desperate.

"Are you tryin' to push my buttons? No, I didn't miss his fucking call. If he wanted to get you back, he would've come up with the money by now, or at least tried to bargain with me. Accept it, princess; you're stuck here!"

"Why can't you just let me go home, then?" I cried. "If you don't think he's going to pay you back anyways, why am I still out here?"

"I told you. Leverage. He's going to pay me back. If you being here isn't enough of a threat for him to come up with the money, we'll see if he changes his mind when I call him up and tell him you're on death row."

My heart pounded in my chest. I had forgotten that I was still in very real danger. This man was willing to kill me to get his way. "Please," I begged him, "I just want to go home."

"Jesus Christ, Tara, would you shut up about going home? I think I've tried my best to make you comfortable here! I bought you clothes, I'm feeding you, and you've got a place to sleep! What more do you want?"

"If I could just get a hold of a computer or something, I could at least do my class work while I'm out here. Please. I just want a shred of my old life back." I clasped my hands together and looked at him with desperation in my eyes.

He pinched the bridge of his nose between his fingers and growled. "What the hell do you think this is, a four star hotel? Fuck me, you are impossible to please."

"I'm sorry," I cried. "I just miss home."

He looked contemplative for a moment before he spoke up again. "Will a computer shut you up?"

I nodded frantically. "Yes, I promise. I just want to do my school work. Please."

"Fine," he sighed, "I'll get you a goddamn computer."

And he followed through on his word. He came back the next day with a laptop. I had no idea whether it was new or used. Based on the state of it, it seemed pretty new. I got the feeling that he was sitting on more money than he would openly admit to.

I sat quietly and did my school work for all of my online classes, and Trevor seemed satisfied with the silence. Over the span of a few days, though, he seemed more open to conversation.

"Why do you give a fuck about this homework of yours?" He interrupted my train of thought as I typed up an essay. He sat down next to me on the couch and peeked over my shoulder at the laptop screen.

"I want to graduate soon. I've worked hard to get a degree. Patrick and I both take classes, but he prefers to take them on campus," I explained. Maybe I shouldn't have brought up Patrick.

"Oh," Trevor interrupted me. "Mr. Business Degree called me this morning."

"What? He did? What did he say?" I was frantic. Maybe I was finally free. Why hadn't Trevor told me right away?

"Not much. He's trying to come up with the money; 'please don't kill my girlfriend,' blah blah blah. Same shit, different day."

My heart sank. I was convinced that this was just my life now. I had tried to ignore the growing resentment I had towards Patrick. Here he was, still at home in our comfy apartment, while I was out in the desert, living with a maniac who held my life in his hands. Why couldn't he come up with the money? He could have asked his parents for a loan, or one of his rich business school friends. But no.

He was probably high. I couldn't believe that he had kept everything from me. I had been living with a drug addict. Not that I would have left him. I would stick by him while he got help for it. I just wish he would have told me. I felt so betrayed. Even crazy Trevor was open about his meth use; though I wished that he wouldn't smoke in front of me. It was quite the culture shock for me, seeing something like that in person and not just on TV.

"Anyways," Trevor brought me back to reality, "I gotta go out for a while. Wade will bring over dinner. I'll be home late." And with that, he was gone.

Wade showed up an hour later, holding three pizza boxes. Seemed a bit overboard for just the two of us, but then again, this was Wade. He could probably put away two pizzas on his own.

"Hey there, Tara," he greeted me happily. He placed the pizza boxes on the table and waved me over to sit with him. I sat beside him, eating pizza directly from the box.

"Wade, how come you spend so much time with Trevor? He treats you so badly."

He shrugged at me, wiping the pizza grease away from his face with the back of his hand. "I don't really mind. He lets me be myself. And besides, I don't really got anyone else."

That was sad. Wade may have been a bit of a mess, but he was sweet and kind. He deserved more than what he had. Ron was much the same. He was a bit more apprehensive to get to know me. He was timid and quiet, but always kind. Trevor treated him better than Wade, but still not well. He didn't seem to treat anyone in his life very well.

"I should probably go home, Tara," Wade said, sounding disappointed. He seemed to enjoy my company. "Trevor'll be real mad if he comes home late and I'm still in his house." He waved goodnight to me as he left, and I made myself comfortable between the sheets on the couch.

It was one in the morning when Trevor barged into the trailer, blitzed out of his mind. He wore only his socks, boots, and a pair of underwear. He tripped over his own feet and fell as he entered. I leapt to my feet instinctively to help him up.

"What the fuck do you want now?" He mumbled at me, his words all slurred together.

"I'm just trying to help you up," I told him defensively. He nodded and allowed me to hoist him off the floor as best as I could. He was heavy, especially for someone as small as me.

He stumbled over to the couch, where he threw himself onto the pillow and sheets that I had just straightened out. I cringed as I looked at his muddy boots pressed against my freshly washed sheets.

I poured him a glass of water and pushed it into his hand. He slurped at it, spilling it all over himself and my pillow. Awesome. I pushed his feet away from me as I sat down at the end of the couch.

"Are you hungry?" I asked him.

"Not hungry. Just horny."

"I can't help you there," I retorted.

He grinned at me. "Aw, why not? I bet you're an animal in bed. The quiet ones always are." He let out a low chuckle and looked at me like a predator. "Come on, humor me. You'd be the prettiest girl I've ever slept with."

"What?" I had never been spoken to like that before. I didn't know whether to be offended or flattered. Maybe a bit of both.

"You heard me. You're real gorgeous. Those eyes and lips. Mmm. And your body. Plus you've got that sexy librarian look goin' on with those glasses," he mused.

I couldn't stop myself from blushing at his words. His words made me feel a bit like I needed a shower, but they made me feel good about myself, as well. I couldn't be too upset. A compliment was a compliment. Besides, he was drunk.

"Why aren't you this nice to me when you're sober?" I questioned him.

He laughed. "I'm never sober, darlin'."

"You know what I mean. Not drunk."

He rolled over onto his side, breaking eye contact with me. "Can't break down my tough image. People get comfortable around me and forget what I'm capable of."

"And that is...?"

"Killing. Stealing. Hurting." He sounded almost upset with himself.

"You know, you keep saying that you'll kill me if Patrick doesn't pay you back. But I don't think you will."

"What else do you think?" He grumbled.

"I think you've grown fond of me. I think you like my company." I would have never said this to him any other time, but again, he was drunk.

"I'm not 'fond' of anyone. I don't get close to people."

"Why not?"

Silence. I thought for a moment that he had fallen asleep, but when I peeked over his shoulder, his eyes were still open. "They leave," he said, sounding disappointed. Perhaps there was more to Trevor than meets the eye.

"You know, I used to have this really good friend. My best friend." I folded my hands together in my lap, getting ready to tell him my story. "We did everything together. We even got matching tattoos. She was like my sister. And then, you know what this bitch did? She left. She just cut me off one day, without a single word or explanation why. I kept calling her and texting her, and she never answered. She was just gone. Broke me down; hurt so bad, I didn't know what to do with myself."

He scoffed. "Yeah, well, at least your best friend didn't fake his death and go into hiding for ten years without even reaching out to make sure you weren't fucking dead."

"That's pretty shitty," I agreed.

"Lemme see your tattoo," he demanded, sitting up slightly.

"Oh, no, Trevor, it's awkward. And it's stupid, anyways."

"Lemme see it," he pressed, sounding annoyed with me.

I lifted my shirt halfway up my torso, tugging my bra away slightly to show him the little pink flower tattooed below my right breast on my ribcage. He nodded, and shifted his eye line to the tattoo on my hip. A little blue swallow.

"What's that one for?" He pointed to it.

"My little brother. He died when he was six." Trevor gave me an inquisitive look. "Cancer," I explained simply.

Trevor smiled slightly before turning his head and pointing out a tattoo very similar to my own. A swallow, tattooed right behind his ear. "For my best friend and my brother; Michael. Turned out to be a fucking asshole, but it was for him."

I was surprised by Trevor's vulnerability. Up until this point, he had shared very little about himself. Maybe all I had to do was try and get him to drink more often. Well, he drank all the time; excessively, really, but not to the point of getting drunk.

"Thank you for this, Trevor." I smiled at him.

"For what?"

"For being real with me. I've been pretty lonely these past couple of weeks."

"Try being lonely your whole life," he said, sounding bitter. He huffed loudly and then laid back down, turning over onto his stomach. "I'm going to sleep. Sleep in my bed if you want; I don't care."

Despite the way it looked, Trevor's bed was actually pretty comfortable.


	4. I Need a Drink

The morning after Trevor's drunken night, he was grumpy and volatile to be around. I emerged from his bedroom to find him sitting up on the couch, bent over, with his head between his knees.

"Morning, sunshine," I greeted him.

"Shut the hell up," he groaned. I crossed my arms over my chest and leaned against the door frame, watching him as he massaged the sides of his head. "Why do you look so fucking pleased with yourself?" He glared at me.

"I just enjoyed getting to know the real Trevor Philips last night, that's all." I grinned at him. My fear of him had diminished substantially, but I tried to hide what remained of it behind my smile.

"I don't know what you're talking about." He stretched his arms above his head, grunting when his joints popped.

"I think you do." I was pushing his buttons and I knew it.

"Listen, whatever the fuck I told you was bullshit. I was drunk. I talk nonsense when I'm drunk." I opened my mouth to speak before he cut me off at the start. "Don't go thinkin' you're special just because I told you a bunch of garbage about my feelings or whatever the fuck. You're not special, okay?"

I frowned. "Whatever you say."

He rose to his feet slowly, wincing as the joints in his knees cracked. "Shut up."

"Sorry," I shrugged. "Are you hungry? I can make you some breakfast." I was actually in a decent mood for the first time in what felt like forever, and I felt like making a nice meal.

"Fuck off with your breakfast and your waffles or whatever. Just fuck off."

I stepped out into the kitchen and watched him as he kicked off his boots, leaving them in the middle of the room. His words stung a bit after how nice he had been the night before.

"I'll make eggs, then," I decided.

"Do whatever the fuck you want! Jesus!" He grabbed the TV remote off of the arm of the couch and sent it sailing across the room.

I jumped and stumbled as I backed away from him. I had nearly forgotten that this man was still very dangerous and unhinged. I needed to be more careful with how I interacted with him.

"I'm sorry, I just thought-"

"You thought what?" He cut me off. "You know what the problem is? The problem is you're not thinkin' at all! I get drunk one night and all of a sudden we're best friends? We're not friends, Tara! You're only here because your shitty boyfriend made a big boy mistake and he can't clean it up!"

My eyes welled up with tears, and I bit the inside of my cheek as I tried to hold them back. Why did his words hurt me so much? I had tried to be strong this whole time, even when I was afraid, and yet suddenly, a few mean words had broken me down.

Suddenly, my feelings for Patrick came rushing back to me all at once. I missed him so much. I missed his smile, his laugh, the way he would scrunch up his nose at me when I teased him over silly things. I wanted to go home. I just wanted to hear his voice.

"C-can I call him?" I spoke quietly.

"What?" He barked.

"Patrick... Can I call him? Just for a minute. You can even listen if you want. I just want to talk to him. Please." I already knew the answer.

"Fuck, no!" Trevor shouted. He pushed past me, grabbing a dirty glass off of the counter and filling it up with water. "You can talk to him when he pays me off! I think you've forgotten your place here, princess! We are not on even playing fields!"

"I'm sorry," I sobbed, wiping away my tears with the back of my hand. "I'm sorry I asked. Forget it."

"Consider it fucking forgotten!" And with that, he was out the door, and on his way somewhere else.

I knelt on the floor, holding my head in my hands as I cried. Just when things had begun to feel somewhat alright, they were right back to feeling shitty again.

I thought about running. It would have been so easy at the moment. Trevor was gone and it was early enough that Ron would still be asleep. He wouldn't even be awake to peer outside and see me leave. I grabbed a few spare dollar bills off of the counter and looked at the door.

I took a tentative step outside. It was almost as if I had expected a bomb to go off if I stepped out the door. Nothing happened. I took another slow step, and then another and another until I was standing by the side of the road, squinting in the sunlight. It had been ages since I had been outside.

I attempted to get my bearings, heading towards the end of the street. Around the back of Trevor's place, there was a little bar called The Yellow Jack Inn. I took a deep breath and stepped inside, jumping nervously at the bell that rang above the door.

I was greeted by five pairs of staring eyes; one being the older woman behind the bar, and the other four being customers sitting around with beers in their hands.

"Hey, darlin'," the woman behind the bar greeted me, "Never seen you before."

"Yeah I'm just... Passing through," I lied. I took a seat at the bar and looked around anxiously. Trevor could be back by now. He would see that I was gone and he would come looking and find me here. He would kill me for sure. Or he would kill Patrick.

"Hey there." I was taken out of my thoughts by an unfamiliar voice. A leather-clad man around my age leaned against the bar next to me, taking in my appearance. "Can I buy you a drink?"

I gave him a meek smile and nodded. He wasn't half bad looking. He was probably hooked on meth, though, like most of this town was, according to Trevor, Wade and Ron. Still, a free drink is a free drink. He ordered me a beer and licked his lips as he stared at me.

"Name's Chad," he told me.

I craned my neck to look out the front window, nervous that Trevor would show up at any second. "Nice to meet you, Chad," I answered mindlessly.

He pushed my beer towards me, and looked at me curiously. "What's your name, beautiful?"

"Oh," I took a swig from my beer, "Um, Ashley."

"Nice to meet you, Um Ashley," he responded, chuckling at his own joke. I tried to refrain from rolling my eyes, and I downed half of my beer. God, I hadn't realized how much I needed a drink until I had one in front of me.

I made small talk with my new acquaintance as I slowly finished the rest of my drink. He was a bit too flirty, but seemed harmless enough. He walked me out as I tried to make my exit. It was time that I went back to the trailer. I didn't want to face Trevor's wrath if he found out that I had left.

"It's been real nice talkin' to ya, Ashley," Chad told me. I nodded at him, feigning a smile in return.

I stumbled suddenly, my head spinning and my vision blurring. I felt dizzy, and any noises around me became muffled, as if I was hiding under a blanket. I felt Chad trying to keep me from falling as my vision went black.


	5. Change of Plans

I woke up in the dark. The floor was cold and hard and unforgiving. I could hear muffled voices, but I couldn't identify where they were coming from. I looked around for a moment before I spotted a bit of light coming from underneath what appeared to be a door. I was in a closet. And my hands were tied together in my lap. Fuck.

I remembered the few moments before the moment when I apparently passed out outside of the bar. Trevor must have found out that I left. This was it. He had finally had enough of my shit and decided to lock me into a closet somewhere. Maybe he hadn't decided what to do with me yet. Maybe he would kill me.

"Hello?" I called out. My voice came out hoarse and shaky. "Trevor?"

"She knows Trevor!" I heard a voice say. The room erupted with the sound of probably a dozen voices chattering away. If Trevor hadn't locked me in here, who had? I heard the sound of the door being unlocked, and I stared up in fear as I prepared myself for the worst.

"Hey there, little lady," I was greeted by a man covered nearly head to toe in leather, very much like... Chad. Son of a bitch.

"What did you do to me?!" I shouted at him. My legs flailed as I tried to kick him in the shins, but he moved out of my reach.

"Isn't it crazy how looking away from your drink for even a few seconds makes you an easy target?" He threw his head back and let out a vindictive laugh.

"Why am I here?!" I shrieked. "What do you want?!"

"Well, I could hardly let a pretty little thing like you go to waste." He shot me a toothy grin, and I cringed. My heart pounded in my chest and I tried my hardest to scoot away from him into the furthest corner of the closet. I knew what he wanted. And behind him was a room full of hungry looking eyes staring at me.

I blinked back tears and looked up at him with desperation. "Please," I cried, "Please let me go."

"Oh, beautiful, you've already seen our faces. You don't really think you're gonna make it out of this alive, do you?" And with that, he slammed the door, locking it again before he left.

My face twisted into one of horror as I realized my fate. I was going to be passed around between these guys before ending up in a shallow grave. Who knows where my body would end up. Maybe they wouldn't even bother to bury the body. Maybe they'd just throw me in the lake. Out this way, it would be months before someone found my bloated body floating on the surface of the water. They would eventually find out who I was and my parents would have to come and identify my corpse.

Or maybe they would never find me at all. I would never see Patrick again. My family would wonder why I stopped answering my phone or coming to visit. I would never be able to play football with my brothers again. Never go out for drinks with my friends again. What a way to go.

I sat in the dark for what felt like hours, trying to make out the conversations happening outside the door. It was all a jumble of noise, until I heard footsteps outside of the closet.

"How's things goin' in here?" It was Chad again. He lunged at me, grabbing onto me and pulling me to my feet by my upper arm. His grip was tight and his fingertips sunk into my skin.

I stumbled as he dragged me out into the room. There was an eruption of woops and whistles as he threw me against a table. I was bent over the edge, with Chad grabbing onto my hips from behind.

"Please," I sobbed. "Please, no."

They ignored me. There were probably twelve of them, all closing in on me. A few of them groped me with their dirty hands. All of them smelled atrocious. I squeezed my eyes shut tight as the salty tears streamed down my face.

"Please!" I tried to wriggle my way out of my current position, but Chad held onto me tight, and I was surrounded from all angles. They let out disgusting, guttural noises as their hands roamed my body. One of them slipped his hand under my waistband and pulled. My shorts clung onto my hips. He grunted and pulled again. He was going to have to unzip them if he wanted them off.

I pressed my pelvis hard against the edge of the table, trying to keep him away. Chad yanked on my hips, and I lost all control of the situation.

"Please!" I yelped. "Help me!"

And then came the sudden hailstorm of bullets. Chad let go of his grip on me, and I ducked under the table. My heart was pounding so fast, I thought it would give out. Bodies fell to the floor around me, and I screamed in horror. Change of plans. This is how I was going to die.

I cowered as the table legs around me were pushed back along the wooden floor. I closed my eyes and prepared myself for the end.

"Well, fuck me up, you're still alive."

My eyes flew open to find a familiar pair of dirty boots in front of me.

"Trevor!" I covered my face with my hands, gasping as I tried to catch my breath. Well, I had escaped death once, but I probably wouldn't make it out of this. Trevor would kill me, for sure. So much for him never finding out about me leaving the trailer. "I'm sorry," I cried.

He stared down at me for a moment before speaking. "Well, what're ya doin' still sittin' on the floor? Let's go."

I didn't understand what was happening, but I didn't question it. I jumped to my feet and scurried out behind Trevor. I hopped into his truck next to him and sat quietly as he pulled out onto the road.

"Thank you," I said softly, staring down at my hands in my lap.

"It's nothin'," he grumbled. He gripped the steering wheel tight, and kept his eyes stuck to the road. I followed him up the front steps back at his trailer, and stood quietly behind him as he unlocked the door.

He stalked over to the fridge and grabbed a beer before turning to face me. "Want one?"

"Really?" I asked. He nodded at me and tossed me a bottle, which thankfully, I managed to catch. After everything, I really didn't feel like cleaning beer and broken glass off of the floor. He grabbed the TV remote and kicked off his boots before sprawling out on the couch. I stood awkwardly by the kitchen counter, staring in his direction.

"What?" He looked at me with annoyance spread across his face. "Ya gonna keep starin' at me or ya gonna sit down?"

"How come you're not angry with me?" I asked him quietly. Why was I questioning this? Why was I pushing my luck?

"For what? For gettin' abducted? Not your fault The Lost can't fuckin' keep outta my place," he shrugged.

He didn't know. He thought they abducted me from his trailer. I definitely wasn't going to tell him. I sat at the end of the couch by his feet and watched the news with him.

"They didn't do anything to ya, did they?" He blurted out.

I was silent for a moment. "No. They were about to, and then you came in. Thank you for that."

He looked at me uncomfortably. "Don't mention it."

He had come out there to save me. He cared. I smiled to myself, careful not to let him see.

"Hey," he spoke up, "Are you hungry?" I stared at him blankly. "Well? You want to go get somethin' to eat?"

"Really?"

"Would ya quit fuckin' askin' me that? Yes, really. I wouldn't ask if I didn't fuckin' mean it."

"Okay," I said quietly. I was shocked. Just that morning, he had been screaming at me, and now he was asking if I wanted to go out to eat.

He took me to a little diner on the outskirts of town. Trevor quietly watched me as I ate. He seemed satisfied to have company, even if it was me. He even ordered me a slice of pie when I was done with my meal, which he also watched me eat in silence. It was uncomfortable, but I didn't care too much. I was starving.

He was the one who finally broke the silence. "So what's so special about this boyfriend of yours? He seems like a prick to me."

"He's sweet," I defended him. "He takes care of me, and he's fun to be around."

"Seems to me like there should be more to a relationship than that."

"Than what?"

"What you said. 'He's fun to be around?' You don't sound too in love with him to me." He was straightforward and spoke confidently.

"I am!" I argued. "I love him."

"Whatever you say," he chuckled. He stared down at his plate, picking at his pie with a single prong of his fork.

"Not hungry?" I asked.

He shook his head. "Just got a lot on my mind."

"Like what?"

He ignored my question. "You've got an eyelash on your cheek." I tried to brush it away, but he looked at me with frustration when I failed to do so. "Still there."

He watched me as I repeated the same motion. "Just... come here." He reached across the table and hesitated for a moment before using his thumb to brush away the stray eyelash.

"You know what I think?" I asked him suddenly. He looked at me blankly, waiting for me to continue. "I think you care about me."

He frowned at me. "I don't care about anyone."

"Why not?" I asked, taking a sip of my drink.

"Just don't."

"There must be a reason," I pressed.

He stared down at his napkin as he folded it in half, and then in half again, and again, until it was too small to fold anymore. "No one gives a shit about me; why should I give a shit about them?"

"I still think you care about me," I said confidently.

He glared at me for a moment before his lips turned upwards into a smirk. "Maybe I just wanna get you in bed with me."

"Oh, do you?" I laughed.

He didn't laugh with me. "Yeah. Can't do any better than you."

"Gee, thanks." Nice backhanded compliment.

"No, no," he rushed to say, "That wasn't meant to be an insult. You're gorgeous. I'd be hard pressed to find a woman who can hold a candle to you. I just meant that you're much better looking than I am."

"You've got some stuff," I laughed. "You're not bad."

He raised his eyebrows and smiled at me. "What kinda stuff?"

"Well, you're tall. Some girls like that."

"Some girls... like you?" He interrupted.

I ignored his comment. "And you're pretty muscular. Every girl likes that."

"Girls like you?"

I smirked at him. "You're trying real hard, aren't you?"

"Is it working?"

"Keep trying. We'll see." I shrugged. I knew I was playing with fire. This man was no good; that was for sure. I couldn't help myself. I was having too much fun with this.

"What if I told you I have an extremely average sized dick? Would that do anything for ya?"

I covered my mouth as I laughed. "I'd have to see in order to judge properly."

"Would you like to?"

"I don't think everyone in this diner would appreciate that very much," I giggled.

"Maybe not. We could make some other arrangements," he shrugged, looking quite pleased with himself.

"You think so?"

"Oh, I'm thinking a lot of things," he growled. "Are you done?"

"What?"

"Are you done eating?"

I nodded, and watched him slap down a pile of bills on the table before standing up and stretching. He led me out of the restaurant quickly and slammed the car door behind me as I climbed in.

"Are we going a different way back?" I asked him. The roads seemed different than the ones we took on our way out to the diner.

"Yeah," he said simply. I watched as the buildings became more and more sparse, until there were only two far off in the distance. This was sketchy. I began to wonder if this whole night had been a farce. Maybe he was planning on killing me all along. If I screamed, no one would hear me. My heart sped up as the truck slowed to a stop, veering off to the side of the road.

"Wh-why are we stopped?" I asked quietly.

"I think you know." His voice was low and foreboding as he climbed out of the driver's seat. "Get out."


	6. Lust

I tried to stop myself from shaking as Trevor rounded the front of his truck. I knew I shouldn't have gotten comfortable around him. He had led me on, making me think I was safe with him, and now I was going to die. So much for him letting me live.

He stood in front of me, staring at me like a lion staring at its prey. I backed up until I was pressed against the side of the truck, and he moved closer to me. I closed my eyes and prepared myself for the worst.

And then his lips were on mine, kissing me hungrily. I yelped at first, trying to pull away. And then... I stopped. I sank into his kiss, and he wrapped his arms around my waist and pulled me flush against his body.

I spoke softly when we finally came up for air. "What are we doing?"

"You're a big girl; you know what we're doing," he muttered. I let him keep going.

I was actually doing this. I was making out with a maniac in the desert, out in middle of nowhere. And the most surprising of all... I couldn't get enough. I wrapped my arms around his neck and stood on my toes to try and get even closer to him.

His hands were calloused when they touched the taut skin along my hip bones, and I shivered at his touch. He buried his face in the crook of my neck, tugging at the sensitive skin with his teeth. His lips pressed against the spots where he had left little love bites, and I shuddered.

There was an urgency in his touch; like he couldn't move fast enough. He pushed my hair away from my face and placed a hand on either side of my head. "God, you're sexy," he sighed, his eyes intense and hungry.

His right hand moved away from the side of my face, and he pressed his thumb against my lips. I opened my mouth slightly to let him in, and he groaned as he watched me close my lips around his thumb.

"C'mere, sweetheart." Sweetheart; that was uncharacteristically soft and sweet for Trevor. He moved me away from the car door and opened it quickly, hoisting me up onto the edge of the seat. I instinctively opened my legs to let him press his pelvis against mine.

He tugged at my shirt, anxiously waiting to see what was underneath. I helped him lift my shirt over my head, and I smoothed my hair out as he took in the sight before him. He cupped my breasts in his large hands; softly at first, but quickly growing rougher as he ground his hips against me.

I felt a familiar fire building up inside of me as he kissed me again, tugging at my bottom lip with his teeth. I had never been kissed like this; so hungrily, so aggressively.

"I want these off," he growled, pawing at the button on my shorts. He unzipped them quickly, and I lifted my hips up slightly for him to slide them off. He dropped them on the ground and pulled me close to him again, leaving just enough room for his hand to fit comfortably between us. His fingers slipped under the fabric on the seat of my underwear, and I sighed when his skin made contact with mine.

"Ohh, you're wet," he exhaled. "What's got you so worked up, princess?" His teeth sunk into my earlobe and his fingers sunk into my core, and I whimpered as he quickly found the sensitive spot inside of me. He was firm in his movements, working me up just right.

I let out a little whine as he removed his hand from my panties. He was quick to push his slick fingers into my mouth. "Suck," he ordered. I did what I was told as he watched intently.

The look in his eye was wild as he tore off my panties. I watched anxiously while he pulled down the zipper of his jeans, letting them fall around his ankles as he yanked down his underwear. He wasn't lying; he was maybe slightly larger than average. I didn't give a shit.

"Do I need a condom?" He asked, the words tumbling out of his mouth quickly.

I shook my head against him as I wrapped my legs around his waist, pulling him closer to me. "I'm on the pill."

I had given him the green light, and he was inside of me, filling me up completely.

"Oh, god," I sighed, squeezing my eyes shut.

He let out a low, guttural groan against my shoulder as he stroked into me. He reached around me and pawed at the clasp of my bra frantically. I helped him out by unlatching it, and I dropped it on the floor of his truck. He groped me in a lust-filled frenzy. His grip on my breasts was tight, just on the brink of painful. It only egged me on.

"I'm close," I whined. God, my orgasm had approached quickly. My words were closely followed by a stream of moans. My nails dug into the skin on his shoulders, and he growled at the sensation while his hips rutted into me.

"Me too." His voice wavered and he sounded frantic. His strokes became faster and deeper, and I felt myself approaching the edge.

"Say my name," he demanded. He wrapped a hand around my throat and squeezed.

"Oh god, Trevor," I whimpered, trying to catch my breath, "Don't stop."

He thrust into me, hard and quick. I couldn't hold back any longer when his hand snaked down between us to rub my sensitive nub. I came hard, tears involuntarily escaping my eyes and streaming down my face.

"Are you crying?" He asked. His tone wasn't one of concern; only lust. I nodded weakly, still in the throes of my orgasm. "Fuck, that's hot, Jesus Christ!" He threw his head back as he kept thrusting into me, losing all rhythm.

"Fuck, fuck, oh my god!" His eyes flew shut, and his hand shot back up to my throat and squeezed, much tighter than before. That was going to leave a mark. "Jesus Christ!" His voice was loud and intense, and he shuddered as he came inside of me.

I let loose a weak sounding moan when he loosened his grip around my throat, and he looked up at me with tired eyes. He planted his forehead against my shoulder, breathing heavy. His skin was hot and sweaty, not unlike my own.

"Mmm," he growled, making eye contact with me as he lifted his head. "God, your body..." He trailed off.

I can't lie, I felt good about myself. I had never felt so wanted; so lusted after. He was intense; passionate. It was all too much to handle, and I felt weak in the knees as I stood up to grab my shorts off of the ground.

God, Patrick never fucked me like that. Patrick. Oh God. I had just cheated on my boyfriend. I had never cheated before, and I was immediately awash with guilt.

Trevor leaned towards me to press a kiss against my forehead, and I planted my hands on his chest and pushed him away. I slipped on my shorts quickly, not caring that they were dirty. He looked hurt as I pulled my bra and shirt back on.

"What the fuck was that?" He asked angrily.

My eyes welled up with tears, and I turned away from him, hopping up into the passenger seat. "I cheated on Patrick," I cried, dropping my face into my hands.

He slid into the driver's seat and sighed dramatically. "So what? He's a prick."

"He's not!" I sobbed. "I shouldn't have done that! Why did you do this?" I knew I wasn't being fair. I had wanted it just as much as he did.

"Don't act like you're so fucking innocent!" He raised his voice, "You spent all dinner flirting with me and leading me on! Don't pretend like you didn't know what you were doing!"

"Just bring me back to the trailer!" I pleaded.

"No! Not until you fucking admit that you're just as responsible for this as I am!" He was irate.

"Bring me back!" I screamed.

"You're really a piece of work, you know that?!"

"And you're an asshole!" I shouted at him.

He shifted the truck into gear, his movements violent and angry. He drove back to the trailer in a rage, speeding like a bat out of hell. I stormed into his trailer, slamming the bathroom door behind me and locking myself in.

"You know, I thought I was the crazy one, here, but you're just as nuts as I am, princess!" Trevor shouted outside the door. He let out a maniacal laugh and and I heard him throw something across the room.

I sat on the floor of the shower crying until the living room went quiet. I held my breath and tried to listen for any movement. He was in his bedroom. I moved out of the bathroom slowly, taking a seat on the couch and pulling my knees up to my chest.

I wasn't being fair. Trevor was right; I wanted all of that to happen as much as he did. I couldn't stop myself. I wanted him. I liked him. For some crazy, insane reason, I liked him. He was masculine, dangerous, and unhinged, and something about it all drew me to him.

I felt guilty for yelling at him. Here he had finally let his guard down around me, and I just proved to him that he shouldn't have. Things would probably go back to how they were before. He would start yelling at me again; walk around the trailer grumpy and angry with me. I would go back to feeling like a prisoner.

I hadn't realized how much I had been craving companionship until we went to dinner. I hadn't realized how starved I was of physical touch until we had sex. I wanted more. Not necessarily sex; just touch. I was supremely lonely, and after spending a while living with Trevor, I had gathered that he was too.

It was quiet in his room. I assumed he was asleep. I changed into a pair of sweatpants and one of his old t-shirts and slipped between the bedroom door and the wall. He was sprawled out on his stomach, taking up almost the entire bed. I took a deep breath and crawled up next to him, gently lifting his arm so I could climb underneath it. He grumbled something unintelligible and sighed as I wriggled my way underneath his arm and against his side. He warmed my cold skin and made me feel more at home. I fell asleep quicker than I had in weeks.


	7. The Morning After

I woke up alone in Trevor's bed. Last night had been a roller coaster of a night, and I knew I fucked up. I blamed him for everything that happened, and it wasn't fair. I wandered out into the living room, looking disheveled after just waking up. Trevor was gone.

I decided that making pancakes was a good idea. Trevor loved when I cooked, and it was early enough that making breakfast food was still acceptable. I even put chocolate chips in them; loads of them. Trevor came home just as I flipped over the last pancake.

"Good morning," I said quietly. My voice was filled with guilt. No response. He disappeared into the bedroom, but left the door open. "Busy morning?" I asked, my voice a bit louder this time. No response.

He stalked out into the living room in a different t-shirt and sweatpants, and grabbed a beer from the refrigerator.

"I made pancakes," I told him. I was desperate for a response. I wanted some sort of gauge on just how angry he was, but his silence spoke for itself.

"Not hungry," he muttered. He grabbed the TV remote and stood directly in front of the TV, flipping through the channels.

"I'll leave some in the fridge for you... For later." I gripped the spatula tight, trying to hide my anxiety.

"No thanks."

"They have chocolate chips in them," I said quietly. No response.

He turned off the TV, apparently changing his mind, and threw the remote on the couch on the way back out the door. And with that, he was gone again. I stared down at the pile of pancakes on the counter as I listened to his engine revving and his tires squealing as he left.

I felt incredibly guilty. I would have almost preferred for him to get angry; to yell at me. The silence somehow felt worse. It felt like he had given up on me, and that was far worse than him simply being angry. I ate breakfast by myself. It tasted like cardboard; dry and lacking in flavor. Which should really say something, because I make a pretty good pancake.

I sat at the table and tried to focus on my schoolwork, but my mind was elsewhere. I wondered what Trevor was doing; where he was. He was probably just out fucking around so he didn't have to see me. I wouldn't have wanted to see me, either.

Wade showed up at the trailer around noon, looking for Trevor. "Hey, Tara!" At least Wade still liked me.

"Hey, Wade," I answered, sounding dejected.

He looked at me with genuine concern. "What's wrong?"

"Does Trevor hold grudges for a long time, Wade?"

He nodded enthusiastically. "Oh, yeah," he told me, "A real long time. He's practically the king of holding grudges." Great.

Wade sat around while I did my schoolwork, switching between watching TV and watching my computer screen over my shoulder. He gave up on waiting for Trevor two hours in, and said goodbye before leaving me alone. I had to make things right.

I pulled out the pack of plain white paper that Trevor had brought back for me a few days earlier, and started sketching something out. I was going to try and fix this the only way I could at the moment. I put all of my effort into my work; a sketch of the diner that Trevor and I had eaten at the previous night. He told me that he loved that place. He was a regular there.

I thought it came out pretty well. I held it away from me at arms length and squinted at it. Yeah, it was good. It would've been better if I had my watercolor set or my acrylic paints, but I made due with what I had.

Trevor reappeared late afternoon, just as quiet as he had been that morning.

"I drew you something," I said from my seat at the table, offering the sheet of paper to him. He stood in front of me and grabbed it from my hand. He studied it for a moment. "It's the diner," I told him. Duh, Tara.

"Thanks," he answered, and slid the sheet of paper back onto the table. I looked at it with disappointment.

"Trevor, wait." I stopped him on his way to the bedroom. He stood in place without turning to look at me. "I'm sorry. Really, I am. I know I fucked up. I just feel so guilty that I cheated, and I tried to put it on you. I thought it would make me feel better... But I just feel worse. I didn't mean to make you feel like it was nothing to me."

"Well, you did," he answered coldly. He turned to look at me. "You know, Tara, I really thought you were different from everyone else. But you're fucking not. You're just as bad."

I blinked back tears as I tried to think of a response. "I swear, Trevor, I didn't mean it! I wanted all of that to happen. And it was such a good night until I fucked it up. I'm just... I'm really sorry."

"Save it." His words were cold and he sounded bitter. He headed for the bedroom door again, but I sprung to my feet to intercept him.

"You can't just keep dismissing me! Talk to me!" I hated my voice when I got upset. It was high pitched and whiny. I couldn't help it.

"Get out of my fucking way, Tara!" He was becoming angry.

"No!"

He grabbed me by the shoulders and moved me out of his path. "Get out of my face! I don't want to see you!"

"Fine! I'm leaving! I'm going to the fucking bar and if you don't like it, you'll have to stop me!"

"Really?!" He shouted, "Because you didn't learn your lesson there the last time?!"

He knew. He knew that I left the trailer and he knew that I was at the bar. "Y-you... You knew?" I stuttered.

"Of fucking course I knew, Tara! I've got connections all over this town! Did you really think you could show up in the bar right around the corner from my place and not have me find out?!"

I was dumbfounded. Here I thought that if he found out I had left, he would've killed me, and instead, he let it slide without even saying a word.

"Why didn't you say anything?" I asked quietly.

"It didn't matter." And with that, he was in his bedroom, closing the door behind him. For once, he didn't slam it.

I made myself scarce, going off to the bar to get myself good and wasted. I wanted to drown my guilt in cheap beer and shitty country music. I sat at the counter, tossing back my third beer and watching a bunch of drunk meth heads playing darts.

Things had been going so well between Trevor and I. I was just finally starting to feel more comfortable with the idea of essentially being his hostage, as silly as that sounds. I missed Patrick, but I also enjoyed Trevor's company. I guess I had to kiss that goodbye. He hated me now.

But when I tripped up the front steps at two in the morning and dragged myself into the trailer, I looked across the room to find my drawing pinned up on the fridge.


	8. Drunken Confessions

I spent days trying to get Trevor to talk to me; I mean really talk to me. Not just a word or two in passing. He wouldn't budge. I spent my days typing away on my laptop or sketching anything that came to mind. I ate my meals alone, unless Wade decided to grace me with his unwavering positive presence. My evenings were spent in front of the TV, trying to forget how lonely I felt. My eyes stung from the tears I cried. The silence around me was deafening.

It was nine at night, and I had just finished cleaning up the pots and pans from dinner. I had made a habit of leaving leftovers in the fridge for Trevor every night. He never ate them. Tonight was no different. I stood at the counter, drying off a casserole dish, staring blankly at the wall.

I was startled out of my trance-like state by the sound of a gunshot, and then another and another. I froze, trying to get a read on what was happening outside. The sound of gunshots wasn't uncommon in the area, but they were never this close. And then I heard the yelling. Trevor. He shouted unintelligible sentences, punctuated with every curse word under the sun. He was drunk.

I tore open the front door to find a shirtless Trevor, standing in his front yard, waving around a pump shotgun. The lady who lived down the street stood in the road, shouting back at him. I knew this woman, or at least knew of her. I would see her walk by sometimes on her way to the lake. Ron knew her, as well. She was mean and coarse, but generally harmless.

"Next time you shoot out my tires, Trevor, I'll cut you open and flay you like a goddamn fish!" She shouted.

"Fuck you!" He retorted. Good comeback. He fired off his gun into the air before dropping it on the ground, and stumbled backwards, just barely catching his balance to stop himself from falling. "Fuck you, Midge, and your fucking piece of shit sedan! Go wrap it around a tree!"

I rushed outside, wrapping my arms around Trevor's waist to keep him upright. He tried halfheartedly to push me away, but I held on tight.

"I'm sorry!" I yelled to the woman in the street. She flipped me off and left her car in the street with two flat tires, choosing to walk home instead.

I helped Trevor inside and into bed, where I pulled off his boots and left them on the floor. He stopped me just as I was about to leave the room. "Tara, come lay with me." His words were slurred and jumbled together.

I knew he was only talking to me because he was drunk, but goddamn it if my stomach didn't do a little flip. I hesitated for a moment before climbing onto his bed next to him, laying down on top of the sheets. He reached for my hand, holding it tight in his own. He reeked of alcohol, but I didn't care. This was the first time in days that he actually wanted to be around me, and I wasn't about to pass it up. I bent my arm and shoved it under the pillow to support my head as I turned over on my side to face him.

He turned his head to look at me, not picking it up from the pillow. "I'm drunk."

I stifled a giggle. "I know."

"I drank so much beer."

I couldn't stop myself from laughing. "I know."

"I almost killed myself today."

My heart dropped and my breath caught in my throat. I knew Trevor was generally an unhappy person, but I hadn't known that he was unhappy enough to do something so drastic. It wasn't entirely unfeasible. I had seen him hurt himself when he was particularly angry. He would slam his head against a hard surface, or he would punch walls until his knuckles bled. But hurting himself and killing himself were two different things.

"Why?" I said softly.

He shrugged, looking up at the ceiling as if he was just discussing what he'd had for lunch that day. "I got real high and ended up on top of the water tower. Almost jumped. Just felt like it."

"You just felt like it? There wasn't a reason?"

He ignored my question. "I hate myself, you know, Tara. Like, really hate myself. I'm a monster." His voice wavered slightly as he finished his sentence. I knew the facade would break eventually.

"Why do you say that?"

"I'm fucked up in the head. My dad beat me, you know. Molested me, too. I would kill him if I knew where he was. Maybe he's dead. Fuck, I hope he's dead."

I stared at the ceiling and searched for the right words to say. When someone tells you something like that, is there even such a thing as the right words?

"I'm sorry that happened to you, Trevor." He turned over onto his side to look me in the face. His hand shot out and reached for mine, and I squeezed it tight.

"When I was in high school, I strangled a clarinet player... With his own clarinet, you know. Didn't kill him, but everyone was scared of me. Didn't matter much. No one ever talked to me. I used to go to school drunk as a skunk; stole my mom's beers from the fridge all the time. She was too drunk or high to notice that they were disappearing."

I laid next to him in silence. I wished that he would have opened up to me without alcohol being part of the equation. It was heartbreaking. There was much more to Trevor than I had thought. Well, I figured there was; nothing that sad, though. He was filled with hurt and anger. I probably would've been too if I were him.

"My best friend set me up back when I was living in North Yankton. Son of a bitch was workin' with the FIB the whole time. Never been betrayed like that before... And by my own best friend. He's lucky I haven't killed him."

"Why haven't you?"

He let out a frustrated sounding huff and rolled his eyes. "I love that fat snake, even though he fucked me over."

I had heard tidbits about his best friend here and there. Michael Townley, or Michael De Santa, as he went by now. He was truly a snake in the grass. Trevor still loved him like a brother, though. He was fiercely loyal; that was easy to see.

"That's sweet," I smiled at him.

"I'm not sweet." He exhaled through his nose and his expression hardened. "Besides," he rolled over onto his back again, his hand still wrapped around mine, "The fucker could use some liposuction. Or plastic surgery. Time has been a real bitch to him." He hid the small smile that had threatened to appear. I stared at him; he stared at the ceiling.

"I'm glad you didn't kill yourself," I said softly.

"Me too."


	9. The Hangar

Despite how drunk he had been the night before, Trevor remembered our conversation this time. It had broken up the silence between us, and he was actually talking to me.

He emerged from his bedroom around noon, shirtless and rubbing his eyes in a daze. He scratched his chest as he looked in my direction, staring blankly at me.

"Good morning," I greeted him, trying not to sound too eager. "I made breakfast." I held out a plate of bacon and eggs to him, which he eagerly took from me.

"Thanks." He sat down on the furthest end of the couch and immediately dug into his breakfast. I tried to stop myself from smiling. I had been making him food for days without him ever touching it. This felt good.

I turned away from him, dipping my hands into the sink filled with soapy water and dishes. "Are you actually talking to me now?" I asked.

There was an agonizingly long pause before he answered me. "I guess."

"Look, Trevor," I began, flicking the water off my hands and turning back towards him, "I'm sorry. I never meant to make you feel bad or feel like the other night meant nothing to me. I just-"

"I know," he cut me off, "Patrick."

I sighed. "Yeah."

I was still overwhelmed with guilt from cheating on my boyfriend. He was always good to me, and now I had to tell him that I fucked up. That is, if I ever saw him. I was starting to feel like I'd never see him or my home again.

"Why are you with him?" Trevor asked. His voice wasn't angry; he sounded almost sad.

"Because... I love him."

At this point, my answer almost felt forced. I did love Patrick, don't get me wrong, but I had a growing resentment towards him. He didn't seem to care too much about the fact that I was forcefully ripped away from our life together. I tried to force down those feelings and focus on the good parts of him. I almost felt like I was lying to Trevor... And to myself.

"I don't think you do."

"What?"

"I don't think you love him. You wouldn't have done that if you loved him. Did the thought of him even come up before we had sex?"

He got me. I swallowed hard, thinking about what he had just said. I didn't. I didn't even think about Patrick that night until after I had cheated. I was so tied up with Trevor that Patrick didn't even pop up in my mind.

"I don't know what to say," I admitted.

"Aren't you even a little angry with him? He's the reason you're still out here."

He was right. Trevor had promised that the minute Patrick paid him off, he would let me go home. I had spent enough time around Trevor to know that he was a man of his word.

I was angry. I had tried to ignore the feeling, but it was getting worse every day. I was forced to give up my life back in the city. Patrick was still there, probably racking up another bill with a new supplier. Why had he kept his addiction from me? How did I not know?

We hadn't been spending as much time together for the past few months. He always said he was working late. I guess now I knew what he had really been doing. I guess you could say that we had drifted apart a bit. I had been trying so hard to convince myself that everything was good that I actually started to believe it.

But I did love him. That feeling still remained, but it grew weaker every day. I tried to keep it alive; keep the thought of him in my head. But I was angry. I was angry with him. Was this going to be the end of Patrick and I?

"I feel sick," I blurted out.

Trevor jumped up, following me as I ran to the bathroom. I threw myself onto the hard floor and braced myself. I retched into the toilet, tears streaming down my cheeks. And then I felt Trevor's hands graze the back of my neck as he pulled my hair away from my face. He held it back with one hand, and pulled my glasses off of my face with the other. Eventually, my stomach settled, and I sat back, leaning into Trevor's touch as he rubbed my back.

"Thank you," I said quietly.

"Don't mention it."

And then came the tears. I pulled my knees up to my chest and let loose a sob. My hair fell around my face, sticking to my cheeks, damp with tears. I felt Trevor's hand on my back, still rubbing gentle circles against me.

"I'm sorry," I murmured, trying to dry my face off with the sleeve of my t-shirt. I smoothed my hair out and pulled it away from my face, taking a deep, shaky breath as I tried to calm down.

We sat on the bathroom floor in silence for a few minutes as I tried to get my breathing back to normal. Trevor eventually broke the silence. "Hey, you wanna go somewhere today?"

I nodded. I didn't care where we went. I barely left the trailer, and I wasn't about to turn down the chance to go somewhere else.

"Well, I got some work to do, but you can come with me. I just figured you might wanna get outta here for a while."

I gave him a weak smile and took his hand as he helped me off of the bathroom floor. I liked this Trevor. This was the Trevor that I actually enjoyed spending time with.

"Where are we going?" I shouted to him over the radio as he sped down the sandy roads.

"You've got a real fuckin' problem with that question, don't ya?" He shouted back.

We pulled up to a huge open field a few minutes later, where he parked his car haphazardly at the end. This must've been his hangar. He had mentioned it a few times, mostly in conversations with Ron. I glanced around, noticing two helicopters to the left, and a small plane parked in the hangar. Ron was already there, standing near the plane with a manila folder in his hands.

I sat around in a little metal folding chair as Trevor and Ron went over inventory and shipments. I didn't care what I was doing. It was a change of scenery, and that was enough for me. I studied all of the little details of the plane in front of me, wondering how Trevor had learned to fly.

"Tara," Trevor called out. He waved me over to him and Ron, and I stood by them with wide eyes. "Do you wanna do me a favor?" I nodded, eager to do anything to pass the time. "We've got this guy comin' any second to make a deal with us. Look over these papers and make sure the numbers are the same on both of them, alright?"

Maybe there was more to this business than Trevor running around killing people and acting crazy. There were numbers, math; equations involved. Ron had mentioned that Trevor was good with numbers. I had been given a pretty easy task, though. I went over a list of stock, making sure the numbers on both sheets of paper lined up; pretty simple. I guess this officially made me an accessory to a crime.

I finished up my task pretty quickly, returning to my seat and watching quietly as Trevor met with the client. He must have made a fairly good deal, because Trevor came back to my side looking happy as a clam as the man left.

"Ron!" Trevor barked. "Go the fuck home!" Ron nodded frantically and started heading out of the building. "Run!" Trevor shouted after him.

I shielded my eyes from the sun with my hand as I looked up at him. "Always so sweet to your friends. You're so darling to be around."

"I really am," he shot back, "Fuck you." He smirked at me and turned to close up the manila folder I had left open on the metal chair beside mine.

"Rude," I laughed.

"C'mere, gorgeous."

I did what I was told, moving out of my seat to stand in front of him at arms length. He reached for me, wrapping his hands around my wrists and pulling me towards him. He ducked down to press a kiss to my lips, his tongue quickly begging for entrance.

I came up for air a moment later. "What spurred this on?" I asked quietly.

"Do I have to have a reason?"

I shook my head and wrapped my arms around his neck, pulling his face back towards mine. My mind screamed at me; Patrick! Don't cheat on Patrick again! But all I could see was Trevor, and I pushed the intrusive thoughts out of my head. I knew I would feel the guilt later, but I was desperate for physical touch, and after Trevor freezing me out for days, I was more than happy to indulge him.

I was quick to pull off his shirt, and I touched him eagerly. His skin was raised all over in scars, and I ran my hand over his chest slowly. He pulled my face back up by my chin so I was looking at him.

"Look at me," he instructed. "You want me to fuck you?"

I nodded, suddenly feeling shy. I looked away from him, choosing instead to tug at the waistband of his jeans. He pushed my hands away and pulled my shirt up and over my head, leaving me in my bra. I helped him out with the hook, letting it fall to the floor by my feet.

"God, your tits are perfect," he sighed, staring at my chest hungrily. I closed my eyes and took a deep, shaky breath as his thumbs traced little circles around my nipples. I inhaled sharply when he pinched them between his thumb and forefinger, and he gave me a wicked grin.

Feeling bold, I reached out to palm him through his jeans. His eyes snapped shut, and he let out a few desperate huffs. Suddenly, I felt good; I felt confident and in control. I gave the head of his cock a squeeze through the thick fabric, and he hissed, tightening his grip on my breasts.

I rubbed him slowly, deliberately. He licked his lips and stared up at the ceiling. I took it as an opportunity to quickly unzip his jeans, and his head shot down to look at me when I tugged his jeans and underwear down and let them fall around his ankles. I stroked him a bit quicker now, feeling him throb slightly every now and then against my touch.

He looked at me with excitement plastered across his face when I sank to my knees in front of him. I took him in my hand and flicked my tongue against the head of his cock. He groaned and bit his knuckles when I closed my lips around him, beginning to bob my head back and forth. I could see him resisting the urge to buck his hips as I sucked him off.

"Do it," I told him.

"Yeah?" He asked, sounding almost surprised. "You want me to fuck your face, baby?"

"Mmhmm," I hummed.

He reached down the gather my hair at the back of my neck, and pushed my head forward until I nearly gagged on his length. He pulled my head back, staring at me with a broken expression as thick strings of saliva dripped off of his cock. And then my mouth was back on him, and my head was being forced back and forth, taking his entire length over and over.

I gasped for air when he let up, and he grabbed me by my wrists, pulling me to my feet. "Come here, you dirty girl." He stepped out of his jeans and lifted me up, placing me on a nearby table. He was quick to tear my shorts and panties off, and I waited anxiously as he positioned himself in front of me.

I let out a breathy moan as he rubbed himself along my slit. He looked more than satisfied when he sank into my core and I yelped at the sensation. He pulled out of me completely before rutting his hips back into me, sharp and quick. My eyes fluttered shut when he started picking up speed, hitting every sweet spot inside of me.

"Fuck," I exhaled.

He looked at me with a wicked expression. "Yeah, you like that cock, baby?" He purred. His voice was much too sweet for the words he was speaking. "Tell me you like it."

I whimpered, attempting and failing to get the words out. He grabbed at my nipples, twisting them firmly, and I cried out. The pain mixed with pleasure was too much for me, and I whined at the sensation.

"Tell me you like it!" He nearly shouted.

"I love it," I whimpered, throwing my head back and staring at the ceiling. He took the opportunity to ravage my neck, sucking hard at the sensitive skin. Those would leave a mark.

"That's right," he growled, "Look at you, fuckin' takin' it like a good girl." He rutted into me hard and fast, and my hand snaked down between us to rub my sensitive pearl in little circles.

His eyes danced back and forth between my eyes and my chest, my breasts bouncing in time with his thrusts. He grabbed my chin in his hand and yanked my face close to his, staring me dead in the eyes.

"I can feel you gettin' close, babe," he grunted, "I can feel that little cunt tightening around my cock." I nodded weakly, moaning when he quickened his pace. "Yesss," he hissed. "Come."

My hand sped up as I rubbed myself, feeling my orgasm climbing up inside of me. He stared at me intently, his eyes dark and wild and his teeth bared.

"I told you to come," he said, sounding almost angry with me. He wrapped his hands around my throat and squeezed, and like clockwork, I was moaning and clinging to him desperately as my climax ripped through me.

"That's right," he snarled. "You want me to blow my fuckin' load inside you?" I could tell from his voice that he was already at the point of no return.

"Yes!" I cried out, still at the peak of my orgasm.

He groaned and dropped his head against my shoulder as he came, groaning and snarling into my ear. God, he sounded so hot. I came down from my high just in time for him to pull out of me, shuddering at the sensation.

He grinned at me, looking cocky as ever. I smiled back weakly and brushed my hair away from my forehead, sticky with sweat. I stood up on shaky legs and felt his hot seed spilling out of me slowly. He slipped back into his jeans, not bothering to pick his shirt back up off the ground.

"Ready to go?" He asked me, watching me pull my clothes back on.

"Let's go back and take a nice cool shower together," I suggested with a shy smile.

He flashed a toothy grin at me, slapping me on the ass as he followed me out of the hangar. "Oh, I fuckin' love you, princess!"


	10. Blackout

The power went out around seven at night. The whole neighborhood was dark, and growing darker as nightfall approached. The whole town of Sandy Shores had lost power, and for unknown reasons. Trevor sat beside me on the couch, cleaning his pump shotgun. God, he loved that thing.

I knew part of his fixation on the gun this particular evening was that the town wasn't always safe at night, especially now, during a blackout. I sat next to him in the light thrown off from a few candles, reading a new book that he had brought back for me a few days before.

"Good book?" He asked, not lifting his line of vision from his gun.

"Yes, thank you." I went back to my reading, only to be interrupted again.

"Isn't it a little dark to be reading?"

"Hence the candles." I stared down at my book, trying to figure out where I had left off.

Trevor put down his gun on the counter and returned with a bag of chips. He sat cross-legged, facing me on the couch. He cleared his throat loudly once, and then twice. He was clearly trying to get my attention. I shut my book and left it on the floor by my feet.

"Hi." I smiled at him, and he grinned back at me. He shoved his hand back into the bag of chips, and then held it out to offer me some.

"Hey," he answered me. "Entertain me."

I snickered at him. He was like a child. The power was out and he had nothing to do around town; he needed constant attention. It made me wonder what he did when he was alone.

"Tell me a secret," I told him. This was always how I passed the time with my friends when I was younger. It was usually light-hearted, silly little facts about ourselves, though occasionally, something heavy would slip out. I was prepared for that.

"I was almost a pro golfer," he stated confidently. I raised my eyebrows at him, and he nodded at me as confirmation. I hadn't expected that. Maybe I would have to seehim play sometime. "Your turn."

"My brothers and I used to hide things around the house to make our parents think they were going crazy," I laughed, thinking fondly about my childhood.

"Well aren't you just a fucking rebel," he teased. I looked at him expectantly, waiting for him to tell me his next secret. "I was in the Royal Canadian Airforce. That's how I learned to fly."

Ahhh, that explained it. I had been wondering that for a while, but never asked.

"I can't picture you in the airforce," I told him.

"Yeah, neither could the bitch who did my psych evaluation. I got kicked out." He rolled his eyes.

"Did you like it up until then?" I asked. I wondered if I was asking too many questions.

He nodded. "Finally felt like I was doing something good. I could've killed that bitch when she got me kicked out." He looked disgusted by the whole conversation.

I changed the topic. "My turn?" He nodded at me, seeming eager to hear my next secret. "See this little paw print tattooed on my ankle? It's for my childhood dog. Her name was Bella and she was my best friend. She died when I was fourteen."

He nodded, and his face dropped suddenly. "I never had a pet. My dad would've killed it."

"Can I ask you a personal question?" I was pushing my luck now, but I tried to tread carefully when he nodded. "You said a while ago that you didn't know where your dad was. Did he leave when you were a kid?"

"He left me at a fucking shopping mall," he answered in a dark tone of voice, and my eyes bulged. "I was nine. He took me into the toy store, which was already fuckin' weird, because he never did anything nice for me. I was looking at the different Lego sets, and I turned around and he was gone. I ran around the whole fuckin' mall looking for him. He just left. Security had to call my mother and have her pick me up. Her drinking got way worse after that, and then the drug use kicked into high gear."

I didn't know what to say. I knew that Trevor had a dark past, but he hadn't shared much up until this point. I frowned at him, reaching out to pat him on the hand. He shied away from my action awkwardly, and then looked at me expectantly, waiting for my next secret.

"Well, come on, now. Next secret."

I bit my cheek, looking up at the ceiling as I tried to think of another fact about myself. "I'm bisexual."

He raised his eyebrows at me. "Hadn't guessed that you'd play for both teams. You seem pretty crazy about the dick." He shot me a devilish grin, and I blushed.

"Do you want to know an extra secret?" I asked him, and he nodded eagerly. "You're the second person I've ever had sex with."

"That's it?!" He balked. "But you're 26!" I shrugged awkwardly, and he spoke up again. "When I was your age, I was gettin' it in wherever I could!"

I tried to hide the twinge of jealousy that I felt when he said that, and I spoke softly. "I just don't like to sleep with someone unless I get the right feeling."

"Feeling?" He echoed. "You had a 'feeling' with me?"

I bit my tongue. I shouldn't have said that. Now I had to expand on my last statement, and things were bound to get awkward.

"Yeah. It's just... I like to know that I'm not going to regret it later."

"Do you regret having sex with me?" He asked. He didn't sound angry or upset; merely curious.

"Well, I don't like that I cheated on Patrick, but I can't blame you for that. I regret my actions, but not what happened... If that makes sense."

He nodded at me. "I told you," he snickered, "It's that very average sized dick. It gets the job done well."

I clamped a hand over my mouth and laughed. If I could say anything about Trevor, it was that he could make me laugh like nobody else.

"Can I tell you one more secret?" He leaned in towards me, not waiting for an answer. "I kinda hope you'll maybe visit me sometime once I let you go home... As crazy as that sounds."

"You? Saying something crazy? No!" I giggled at him, rocking forward onto my feet and shoving him playfully. He rolled his eyes with faux annoyance. "That could be arranged."


	11. Beach Trip

"You must be going a little stir crazy, being in this trailer all the time," Trevor said through mouthfuls of cold Chinese food.

I looked at him with a deadpan expression. That was rich coming from him. "Yes, I am, thank you for noticing."

"What's up with the attitude?" He asked me, his voice calm and genuinely inquisitive.

"You're the one keeping me here!" I wasn't angry when I spoke; merely pointing out the obvious.

"Hm," he hummed to himself. I watched him as he threw the open container of lo mein back into the fridge and chugged orange juice straight from the carton.

"Orange juice and Chinese food?" I balked. Gross.

He flashed a toothy grin at me before he spoke up, changing the topic entirely. "Let's go somewhere."

"Really?" My eyes lit up and I clasped my hands together, waiting for confirmation.

He nodded. "Paleto."

"But it's eleven at night. Paleto is two hours away. And what's in Paleto?"

"Look, do you wanna go or not?" He shot back, sounding somewhat annoyed with me.

"Yes! Of course!" I practically levitated off the couch and onto my feet, rushing to slip on a pair of flip flops. I grabbed my purple hoodie off the back of the couch and trailed along behind Trevor all the way out to his truck.

I was glad to have brought something warm to wear. The wind whipped through my hair and chilled me to the bone as Trevor sped down the highway. I sat quietly beside him, watching everything pass by in a blur.

At one o'clock, we pulled up to a rocky ledge overlooking the ocean. I could just barely make out a tiny beach down below. Trevor parked his truck along the side of the road and opened the driver's side door.

"Is this where we're going?" I asked.

"No, I'm just stopping to take a leak," he said blankly.

"Oh." I diverted my eyes as he rounded my side of the truck.

"I'm fuckin' kidding. Yes, this is where we're going." He grabbed a large bag out of the truck bed and proceeded to pull my door open, gesturing for me to follow him. "C'mon."

The way down to the beach was steep and rocky. I stumbled a few times, relying on Trevor's shoulder to keep my balance. It was worth it, though. It was a small beach; illuminated by the moon and surrounded by rock walls. We were the only ones there.

I watched Trevor as he pulled one log after another out of his bag, stacking them up and building a fire. He laid out a blanket in front of it and sat down on it immediately, patting the space next to him. I did as I was told, taking a seat across from him.

"This is nice," I smiled at him. He looked almost embarrassed. "So romantic of you, Trevor." I giggled, and he laughed sarcastically.

"I know how to woo the ladies," he joked. He stared into the flames in front of us, looking completely distracted.

"You know, when Patrick and I started dating, he used to bring me to Paradise Pier every weekend. We'd play carnival games and go on rides and eat hot dogs and burgers. It was so simple but so nice." I thought fondly about those times as I spoke, smiling softly to myself.

"Yeah, Patrick sounds a little simple, himself," Trevor retorted.

I furrowed my brow at him and frowned. "Why do you always have to do that? Why do you have to be so mean?"

"He sounds like a real blast; that's all. Just as much fun as every other yuppie sitting in their cubicle, making phone calls all day."

I reached forward slightly to give him a light punch in the arm. He grimaced at me. "You know I'm right."

"Fuck you," I snapped. "You took me away from him, and now you're going to sit here and trash him all night? Fuck you."

There was a long silence between us before he spoke again. "I'm sorry. It's just... I always thought if I were in a relationship, I'd want more than that out of a woman."

"Wait," I piped up, "Have you ever been in a relationship?"

He shook his head, avoiding eye contact with me. "Nope."

It boggled my mind. He was middle aged; how could he have never had a girlfriend? I mean, most women wouldn't want to live in a dirty, messy trailer with a serial killer meth head, but there was a time before that; there was a time when he was younger, more innocent, and not so dangerous. How had he never been in a real relationship?

I tried not to sound judgmental when I spoke up again. "Why not?"

He leaned back on his hands and shrugged. "Just never happened. No one wants to be with someone like me, you know, Tara. I'm a goddamn wreck." I frowned at him, and my eyes softened. "And don't gimme that look. I'm fine. I don't need anyone."

"Just because you don't need something doesn't mean you don't want it," I told him. He looked at me, and I could see the gears turning in his head. "What about when you were younger?"

He shook his head again. "Are you kidding? What; the kid who came to school in clothes that didn't fit, reeking of booze? Or the twenty-something year old who showed up everywhere drunk and angry and had just figured out how to kill someone and get away with it? Does that scream 'relationship material' to you? Fucking no, it doesn't."

He stood up suddenly, breaking eye contact with me and pulling off his boots and socks. He rolled up his jeans haphazardly and headed towards the water, where he stood looking out at the horizon. I joined him, standing barefoot behind him for a moment, hesitating slightly. And then my arms were around him; wrapped around his midsection from where I was behind him.

I dropped my forehead against his back, and took a deep breath before I spoke. "I'm sorry for what happened to you, Trevor. All of it. You deserved better."

He pulled my arms off of him and moved to stand facing me. "No I didn't. I was always a fucking psychopath. I used to light shit on fire for fun. I was blowing shit up and practicing my shooting by the time I was nine. I was a bully and an outcast and I'm exactly where I deserve to be in life. You can't do the shit I've done and walk out smelling like roses. I mean, literally; I smell like a dumpster fire."

"You don't," I argued, "You smell like aftershave. Maybe you're just trying harder because I'm here." I grinned at him and wiggled my eyebrows suggestively.

"Dont be stupid," he shot back at me. "I don't try hard for anyone. Besides, once your fuckwit boyfriend pays me off, you'll be on your way back out to the city and it'll be like none of this ever happened."

"Trust me," I spoke softly; gently, "I'm never going to forget you."


	12. Birthday Surprise

This is a draft chapter in a posted work. It will be kept unless the work is deleted.

Preview

Chapter 12: Birthday Surprise Chapter by TrevorPhilipsIndustries Chapter Text

I started sleeping in Trevor's bed. I was tired of sleeping alone on the couch. I convinced myself that simply sleeping next to him didn't count as cheating. I had already cheated on Patrick twice, and I didn't intend on doing it again. Trevor seemed to have some sort of power over me. He could look at me the right way, and I would go weak in the knees. Next time, I told myself, I would be strong and say no.

I woke up next to Trevor the day before my birthday, knowing full well that I wouldn't get to spend it at home. I had made peace with my current lifestyle. Sure, I missed Patrick and I missed home, but as long as I had my schoolwork and some paper to sketch on, I would be alright.

Still, Patrick and I had made plans well in advance for my birthday. We wanted to go to the aquarium in the morning, sit around on Vespucci beach in the afternoon, and end the day with cheap hot dogs and funnel cakes on the pier. It would've been perfect. I let out a sigh as I sat at the table, daydreaming about my perfect day. Instead, I would spend it with grumpy Trevor. Well, unless he was in a good mood.

And indeed he was. I woke up on my birthday to find him already in the kitchen, eating cereal straight from the box, one handful at a time. "Gooood morning," he hummed.

"Hi, Trevor," I exhaled, still in a half asleep state. I wasn't even awake enough yet to remember that it was my birthday.

"Guess who's 26 today?!" He exclaimed, looking at me with a childlike joy.

"Oh yeah," I mumbled, "That's today, isn't it?" I shuffled into the kitchen and leaned back against the counter next to him.

"I made you breakfast." He extended a hand out to me, filled with Captain Crunch. It spilled over onto the floor and he shot me a goofy smile.

"Well, aren't you thoughtful."

"I am," he insisted, dropping his box of Captain Crunch on the counter. He spoke through a mouthful of cereal. "I got you somethin'."

He pointed at the table in the corner of the room, and I followed him over to stare at a large brown leather box with a fancy gold latch on the front. There was a giant, glossy red bow taped on top of it; much too large for the box it was placed on. I smiled up at him.

"Thank you, Trevor," I murmured, staring at the mystery box.

"Well, open it," he demanded. He stood next to me, staring at me anxiously as I reached for the gold latch. I gasped when I lifted the lid, staring at my gift.

A full set of watercolor paints; nice ones. The fancy set of acrylic paints that Patrick and I could never afford. A pile of different paintbrushes, varying in shape and size. A professional painter's palette, a full set of lead shading pencils, pastels, and a huge stack of drawing pads; the good kinds with the thick pages that held up against watercolor paints. I clamped my hands over my mouth and stared at it all in awe.

"Do you like it?" He asked excitedly.

I nodded slowly, still staring at the box of art supplies in front of me. "Oh my God, Trevor. This is amazing. I don't even have stuff this nice at home."

"Just thought you'd like to be able to work on your art while you're still out here. I felt kinda bad watchin' you draw on printer paper with a plain blue pen this whole time."

I threw my arms around him and pressed my head against his chest. "Thank you so much! This is the best gift ever!" I sounded like a child on Christmas morning. I couldn't help myself; he had gotten me the best of everything, all packaged up nicely in an ornate leather box.

He chuckled, and moved his right hand up to run his fingers through my hair. He planted his fingers underneath my chin, and lifted until I was staring up at him.

I pushed against him slightly when he ducked down to kiss me. He looked at me with a wounded expression, and I felt an immediate pang of guilt. Here he had just spent an incredible amount of money on a gift for me, and I was rejecting his affectionate gestures. I just couldn't cheat on Patrick anymore.

"What the fuck?" Trevor blurted out. His tone wasn't one of anger, just hurt.

"I can't," I said quietly, trying to hide the sadness in my voice.

"What, so you can hop on my dick, no problem, but the minute I try to show you an ounce of affection, you push me away?" Now he was angry.

"I'm with Patrick," I mumbled.

"Yeah, and that's the fuckin' problem!"

And now I was angry. "What the fuck does that mean?!"

"I think I've been more than fair to you out here! I feed you, I let you sleep in my bed! Fuck, I bought you a birthday present! I'd hardly call this a hostage negotiation!"

"Then why won't you just let me go home?!" Tears soaked my face, and I stood in front of him in my slippers, looking like an absolute mess.

"Why do you even want to go back there?!"

"Because of Patrick!"

"He's a snake, Tara! He lied to you! He kept shit from you! Why the fuck do you want to go back to him so badly?!" He gesticulated wildly at me as he spoke, and he had begun pacing back and forth. "I would never do that to you!"

"Why does that even fucking matter?!" I yelled back at him.

"Because I-" He stopped in his tracks, interrupting his own sentence with a deep, shaky breath. "Because I want to be with you."

Silence. I wiped away a tear from my cheek and stared at him, completely dumbfounded. He looked back at me, seeming almost ashamed of his confession. His chest heaved and he inhaled and exhaled loudly, trying to catch his breath after yelling at me.

"I can't." My voice was soft, and filled with regret. I didn't want to hurt him. I never wanted to hurt him. But I knew I would eventually go back home to Patrick, and I had to go back with a clear head. I shuffled past him, heading towards the bedroom, where I pulled at the door behind me.

"Your meth head boyfriend called me," he called after me. "He paid me off. You can go home."

I whirled around to look at him again. "Why didn't you fucking tell me?!" I shouted, filled with a newfound fury. "How long ago did this happen?!"

"A week ago," he said blankly.

"A week! You've known for a week and you didn't say something?! What the fuck is wrong with you?! When were you planning on telling me?!"

He looked guilty as he shrugged in response. "I just wanted more time," he said quietly.

"For what?!" I yelled, marching up to him and staring up at him with fire in my eyes. "For what, exactly, Trevor? To hold me hostage just a little longer? Or what; were you hoping you could weasel your way into my pants one or two more times?!"

He furrowed his brow and threw his hands up in the air when he shouted back at me, "Weasel my way in?! Excuse the fucking shit outta me, but I didn't force my hand down your pants! I didn't tell you to get on your knees and suck my cock! That was all you, princess! Take some fucking responsibility for once!"

"Fuck you, Trevor! I hate you!"

He shoulders dropped and he looked defeated. I had known Trevor long enough at this point to know his mannerisms and his expressions. I had hurt him.

I rolled my eyes and stormed into the bedroom to gather the few belongings I had accumulated during my stay, throwing them all haphazardly into a trash bag. I slipped on a pair of flip flops and stormed out the front door, not caring about my messy ponytail or the fact that I was still in a pair of sweatpants and an oversized t-shirt. I left him standing in his trailer in silence.

I sat on the curb outside The Yellow Jack Inn, waiting for the cab I had called from the phone inside the bar. I was filled with anger and sadness. I hated Trevor. I hated him so much. No, I didn't. I was trying so hard to convince myself that I hated him; just to take away the sting of leaving his company so suddenly. Would I ever even see him again? What if he spent the rest of his life out in the desert, lonely and angry? Who cares, I told myself. I just wanted to go home and sleep in my own bed. I was done with Sandy Shores.


	13. Welcome Home

I got back to the city mid-afternoon. It almost felt like returning to a different life. Things with Trevor had become so normal to me that going back into the city, especially on my own, felt like an almost alien concept. I had my freedom back. I could do whatever I wanted.

I couldn't hold back my smile as the cab pulled up outside of our apartment building. I practically sprinted up the cement stairs and lifted up our doormat to find a key waiting for me underneath it. Patrick must have been waiting this whole time for me to come home.

Our apartment smelled so clean; like fresh washed linens, or cotton. Everything was how I had left it. Thank you, Patrick, for cleaning up after yourself. If only Trevor had been so easy to clean up after. I had grown accustomed to cleaning up the nastiest messes; our apartment was one of luxury. I took a running leap into my bed. The sheets were so clean! Our bed was so soft!

I sat on our shiny leather couch later, catching up on all my recorded shows, and ate a salad. A salad! With fresh vegetables! Judge me all you want, but that salad was incredible. I had been living on junk food for so long that fresh vegetables were like a miracle sent from god. Don't get me wrong; I love junk food. Just maybe not as much as Trevor.

I tried to put him out of my mind. I didn't even want to hear his name rattling around in my brain. I was angry; furious. Sure, I had started growing fond of him over time, but how could he have kept something so big from me? I could have gone home an entire week earlier, but he kept me there, knowing full well that Patrick had paid him off. I knew why he did it. I ignored the creeping thoughts of fondness and the soft spot I had developed for Trevor.

I told myself to forget him; he didn't matter anymore. All that mattered was that I was back home, and Patrick would be home from work soon. I waited anxiously all afternoon to hear the front door unlock. I nearly knocked him over when he walked in wearing his typical work attire; suit and tie.

"Tara! Oh my God!" He trapped me in a bear hug, and I nestled into his arms, letting out a satisfied sounding sigh. I had missed him. I missed his hugs, his voice, the way he smelled. It was nice to be home. "I'm so sorry, Tara! I'm sorry!"

I chose not to acknowledge the awkward fact that I had been gone this whole time because of his choices. There would be plenty of time to discuss those things later. "I missed you so much!" I squealed. My lips smacked against his before I began pressing tiny kisses all over his face.

"I missed you too!" He brushed my hair away from my face and locked eyes with me. "I mean it. I missed you so much, sweetheart."

That word settled strangely in my ears. 'Sweetheart.' It used to sound so natural coming out of his mouth. I used to feel little butterflies every time I heard it. Now, it just sounded... Off. Something was off about it. I could hear the love in his voice when he said it; his love for me was genuine. But my stomach did an uncomfortable flip at the sound of his pet name for me. I pushed down the feeling and followed him around as he changed out of his work clothes and back into a pair of jeans and a button down.

We went out to dinner that night. We chattered away happily, trying to get out all the things we had wanted to tell each other the whole time I was away. We held hands across the table and I laughed when Patrick missed his mouth trying to drink from his straw. He crumpled up his straw wrapper and threw it at me, and he stifled a laugh when it went down my shirt and I had to awkwardly fish it out in public.

Being with Patrick felt so comfortable; so safe. He was my best friend, and he felt like home. We had built a life together; a good one. I stared at him across the table as he ate his dinner. He looked as gorgeous as he always had. Blonde hair, soft and tousled, blue eyes staring at me with pure adoration. I used to say that I never felt better than I did when he would look at me with those eyes; I could've lived in that moment. But things felt different now. I watched him as he poked at a bit of steak on his plate, and my line of vision snapped down to my own dinner when I felt his gaze on me. I could feel his blue eyes boring into me, but all I could see in my mind was brown eyes.

I sat in bed later, waiting for him to brush his teeth. He came into the bedroom in his flannel pajama pants and leapt onto the bed next to me, throwing an arm over my stomach. I sat motionless, trying to figure out what to do with my hands. Why wasn't this natural for me anymore? Why did I feel so uncomfortable?

"Patrick," I sighed. This conversation wasn't going to be easy. "We need to talk about this meth thing."

"Yeah," he muttered, "I've got it under control, Tara, I promise."

"Well clearly not. I just got home from a great holiday out in Blaine County with a crazed drug lord."

He looked at me with shame painted across his face. He sat up next to me and took my hand in his, pressing a gentle kiss to the back of it. "I'm sorry. I never meant for things to go this far. Work and school just got to be so much and I know this guy in one of my business classes who had a hookup, and I just fell into it, I guess. As you can see, I'm still functioning, but it's gotten out of control. I'm so sorry, Tara. I never meant to get you tied up in this. I feel so awful that this all happened to you, and I-"

I cut him off with a simple kiss. "As long as you're going to get help, I'll stand by you. I love you." The words felt different coming out of my mouth this time around. They hung heavy in the air, and my mind tried to run from them.

"I missed you so much," he sighed. "Thank you for being so understanding. I don't know any other women who would stay after all of this."

"Well, I'm pretty special," I joked. "Besides, after living with Trevor, you're a breeze. We'll get through this."

Patrick smiled at me and pulled me close to him. He lifted my chin up until I looked him in the eye, and he kissed me softly. His hand tangled into my hair and rested at the nape of my neck. I felt his other hand creeping up my side, wriggling its way under the hemline of my pajama top. I tensed up.

"Not tonight," I murmured, gently pushing his hand away. "I'm just tired."

He looked hurt as he reached over to turn the bedroom light off. "I love you," he said quietly, as if he was looking for reassurance.

"Love you too." I turned over onto my side, facing away from him.

The space between us was large enough to fit a third person. This was totally normal, I told myself. Patrick and I had been apart for a while; it was only natural that we felt a little distant from each other. Once we both got back into the swing of things and Patrick got some help, things would go back to how they were before. It was fine. I tried to convince myself that it was all okay, but the lump in my throat and my damp eyes proved otherwise. I felt hollow and depressed. A lonely feeling had crept into my world and threatened to make itself a permanent resident. It was okay. This was going to work out; it had to. I probably would have had a much more difficult time falling asleep if I hadn't just had the longest day ever.


	14. Leaving Home

Somehow, Patrick had kept my family and friends complacent while I was gone, and convinced them not to call the police. None of them knew the kind of danger I had been in; simply that I had gone away and unplugged from the world while Patrick figured things out for himself.

My best friend Julie wasn't as easily convinced. "So what the fuck kind of spiritual journey did you take without your phone? You've always got that thing on you." She sat across from me at the kitchen table in her apartment, digging into the Chinese food we had just gotten delivered.

"I just had to get away from everything for a while," I lied.

She narrowed her eyes at me and dropped her chopsticks on the table. "Bullshit. You would have told me. I may be dumb, but I'm not that dumb."

"I was just stressed about things with Patrick and I just... Left, I guess." I hated lying to Julie, and apparently, I wasn't very good at it, either.

"Just tell me what happened, Tara, Jesus Christ." She leaned back in her seat and crossed her arms over her chest.

"Okay," I sighed, stopping to take a sip of my drink. I fiddled with my chopsticks, trying to hide my anxiety. "Patrick owed a guy a lot of money. His name is Trevor. He was the one selling him the meth. He kind of kidnapped me and made me live out in Blaine County until he got the money."

"Oh my God, Tara! Why the fuck didn't you tell me? Did he hurt you? Are you okay?"

"I'm fine, and no, he didn't hurt me. He actually saved me from some guys who did want to hurt me, though."

She scoffed at me. "Well, what a thoughtful maniac! We have to call the cops." She reached for her phone on the table, and I clamped a hand down over hers.

"Don't." She looked at me as if I had grown a third head, and I closed my eyes for a moment, trying to gather my thoughts. "He's not what you think he is."

"Oh, so he's not a drug dealer who took you captive and essentially used you for ransom?"

"Well, yeah. But he's different. He's not a bad person, he's just... Complicated." I didn't know what else to say to her. How do you defend someone like Trevor to someone who doesn't know him? You can't. I suddenly found myself fighting back tears, and I wiped them away from my eyes, feeling embarrassed.

"Oh my God," she exhaled, "This is classic stockholm syndrome. That's what this is, isn't it?"

I had had enough. I grabbed my hoodie off the back of my chair and pushed my arms through the sleeves. She stopped me as I approached the front door, grabbing my arm and pulling me back towards her.

"I'm sorry, Tara, I'm sorry. I promise, I'll hear you out. I won't call the cops. Just please come sit back down and talk to me."

I joined her back at the table where I pushed my plate away from me. Suddenly I didn't feel very hungry anymore. A tear slipped down my cheek, and I looked away from her in shame. "Jules, I cheated on Patrick." A small sob escaped me, and I buried my face in my hands.

"What?" Her voice was quiet and disbelieving.

I nodded, still not wanting to make eye contact with her. "The guy who kidnapped me... I slept with him. Twice, Jules! I cheated on Patrick twice!"

"Oh my God, did he make you?!" She threw her napkin down on the table and scooted her chair over to my side, rushing to comfort me with a gentle hand on my arm.

"No, he didn't make me!" I was irritated. I knew Julie meant well, but her commentary made it so hard to talk to her. "I wanted to. I'm a horrible person, Julie. I don't deserve Patrick."

"You're not horrible, Tara." Her voice was soft and she had calmed down substantially. "Why did you do it?"

"I just got tied up with Trevor and it just happened. I was stupid."

"Are you going to tell Patrick?" She asked.

I knew I had to do it. It would have been wrong of me to keep something so big from Patrick. There had been a lot of secrets going around, and I was tired of it all. It was time to tell him the truth.

I told him the following morning. He stood at the kitchen counter, cutting up vegetables for an omelette. I wrapped my arms around him from behind, pressing the side of my face against his back.

"Patrick," I mumbled, "I have to tell you something."

He put down his knife and turned to look at me with concern. He could tell something was wrong by the tone of my voice. I teared up, and he wiped the dampness away from my cheek with his thumb. "What's wrong?"

My voice cracked when I spoke up, "I cheated on you." I was so ashamed of myself. I stared down at my feet, trying to ignore the feeling of him staring at me.

"What?" He balked.

"I cheated on you."

"When?"

"When I was away. I didn't want to hurt you. It just happened and I feel so-"

He cut me off. "You slept with Trevor?!"

I nodded slowly, still avoiding eye contact. "I'm so sorry."

He stared at me for what felt like an eternity. I waited for him to yell. I squeezed my eyes shut and braced myself for the explosion. But it never came. He spoke to me calmly and quietly.

"Okay," he said, "How many times?" I held up two fingers. "Okay."

My head shot up to look at him. "That's it? You're not mad?"

"I'm upset, but it's okay. You wouldn't have been out there if it weren't for me. As long as you're here with me now, it's okay." He took my hands in his, and pressed a kiss to my forehead.

I stared out the window as he pulled me into a hug. I should've been elated. He forgave me so easily. That's what Patrick did. He was kind-hearted and understanding. Why did I feel so empty inside? I felt shame, that was for sure, but as he held me in his arms, I felt nothing.

It hit me all at once; I loved Patrick. He was my best friend and my biggest confidante. But I wasn't in love with him anymore. I bit my lip and fought back tears. He tugged gently at my chin to get me to look at him. His face dropped when I met his eyes, and he looked sullen.

"You're not here with me anymore, are you?"

"I am!" I jumped to answer him. I don't know if I was trying harder to convince him, or myself.

He shook his head. "No, you're not." I let out a pathetic sounding sob, and dropped my head against his chest. "It's okay, Tara," he sighed.

"I love you," I told him, tears rushing down my cheeks.

"But you love him more." He looked down at me, waiting for confirmation.

Patrick was right. I loved Trevor. When he had taken me out of my home, I hated him. I hated everything about him. But time had made me soft; it made him soft. I saw who he was inside, and I saw a different Trevor than I had seen before.

I nodded in agreement. Patrick looked at me with sad eyes. I broke his heart, and he was still so sweet; so understanding. I was letting go of someone so special; something so good.

I learned something that day. There was a stark contrast between loving someone, and being in love with someone. I loved Patrick. In all of his silly quirks and human flaws, I loved him to the end of the earth and back. But it wasn't enough. He could've put a ring on my finger. We could've gotten married, had a few kids and lived a pleasant life together. But I wasn't in love with him.

I wanted more than a pleasant life. I wanted someone who lit me on fire from the inside out when they looked at me. I wanted someone who made every day a new adventure and an opportunity to grow together. The right person would stop my heart for a moment every time they touched my skin. Trevor.

Patrick went to stay at his parents' that night so that I could take my time to pack. I told him I would be gone before he got home the next morning. Seeing any more of each other would be too painful. I pulled all of my luggage out of the closet and spent the whole day filling one bag after another with clothes, books, decorations; anything that would fit in my car. Patrick would drop the rest off at my parents' house.

And then I left. I filled up my gas tank and I left the city. I drove straight through the night. I was leaving home again; this time by choice. The headlights on the highway cut through the fading darkness as early morning approached. I was tired but I couldn't stop driving. I was almost there. Maybe I wasn't leaving home; rather, I was going home.


	15. Found My Way Back To You

I pulled up to Trevor's trailer at five in the morning. The sky was a deep shade of blue as the sun threatened to peek through the darkness. Trevor was passed out on the couch on his front porch; sleeping off a drunken night, no doubt. I parked across the street and bit my lip, trying not to cry happy tears. God, I had missed him. I missed his drunken nights and the way he would open up to me and tell me the things he would never tell me sober.

Aside from the peep frogs, it was dead quiet. I laid on the horn, and the dog down the street barked. Trevor startled awake, propping himself up on his elbows and rubbing his eyes in confusion before plopping himself back down on the couch.

I stepped out of my car, leaning against the roof of it, and called out to him. "Hey, dumbass, over here!" His head shot up and I stood by my car, laughing as he tried to decipher the situation.

He sat up, squinting across the street at me. It was silent for a moment, aside from that damn dog down the road.

"Tara?" He called out softly.

I tore across the street faster than my brain could process, and I knocked him back onto the couch just as quickly as he had stood up. I couldn't stop the tears from falling, and I kissed him with conviction; like nothing else mattered but this.

"What are you doing here?" He looked at me in confusion, his lips twitching as he tried to hide his smile. He was trapped underneath me, staring up at me as our noses nearly brushed.

"I couldn't stay with Patrick, anymore," I exhaled, feeling out of breath. I couldn't keep the smile off of my face. "I want to be here."

"You want to be here? In my rusted old trailer in Sandy Shores?" He laid motionless underneath me and looked at me with a puzzled expression.

I nodded emphatically, bumping noses with him before capturing his lips in another kiss. "I want to be here, with you."

He paused, trying to formulate the right words to say, before simply asking, "Why?"

"Because I love you." I could feel my face turning red, and I hid it from him by dropping my head into the crook of his neck.

"Shut up, Tara," he laughed, "Stop being stupid."

My head shot back up, and looked at him seriously. "I'm not kidding. I love you. I want to be with you, Trevor. Please don't make me leave."

"Why would I make you leave?" He wrapped his arms around my waist and kissed me on the cheek.

"Because I know you love me too, and I think you're scared, Trevor."

He froze. "Trevor Philips doesn't get scared," he scoffed.

"Then say it," I challenged him.

"Say what?"

"Say you love me."

He pulled me down towards him so that my chest was flush against his, and he spoke quietly into my ear. "I love you."

I bit my lip in an attempt to hide my growing smile. He loved me. I mean, I knew that he did. But knowing it and hearing it were two different things.

"You reek of booze," I blurted out as I pulled away from him slightly to look him in the face.

He looked embarrassed. "Yeah, uh... I've been smoking up and drinking pretty heavily the past couple days."

My heart broke at the thought of him alone in his trailer, getting drunk and high and thinking about everything that had happened between us. I looked at him with sad eyes.

"Did you miss me?" I asked him softly.

He paused for a moment, looking at me thoughtfully. "I missed you real bad, princess."

I smiled. He had only called me princess in the past when he was annoyed with me. There had been a shift, and now it was a term of endearment. I liked it.

"I gotta tell you something though." His tone of voice shifted, and he sounded guilty and ashamed. I stared down at him nervously, waiting for him to expand on his statement. "I slept with a workin' girl while you were gone. I was high and I was just lonely without ya here... I just-"

"You needed physical touch," I cut him off.

"Yeah," he muttered. Shame was painted across his face, and he looked almost as if he was about to cry.

"I'm sorry I wasn't here."

He arched an eyebrow and looked at me with wide eyes. "You're not angry? Did you hear me say I slept with a prostitute?"

I winced at his blunt words. Of course I was angry. I was only gone for two days and he had smoked and drank himself into a stupor and slept with another woman. But it wasn't worth the fight. He was starving for company; for physical touch. He looked for it in the place where he had found it for years.

"Was she better than me?" I asked him.

"Are you outta your goddamn mind? Of course she wasn't."

I grinned at him. I pushed away the thoughts of him with another woman and focused on what he had just told me.

"Besides," he began, "You voluntarily sucked me off in the hangar on a ninety five degree day, and I didn't even pay you."

"How romantic," I sighed, piling on the sarcasm in my voice.

"Shut up," he growled, pulling my face back down towards his to kiss me again. I melted into him. This is where I wanted to be. This was my home now.

We made love right there on his front porch, half lit by his porch light, hoping that no one would wake up early and drive by. Well, I hoped... Trevor didn't care. Ron might have heard us. It's okay. Nothing matters except for Trevor and I.


	16. A New Beginning

I watched as Trevor loaded the last box into the back of his truck. I stood on the front porch, trying to grasp the reality of the situation. We were moving, and this was probably the last time we would ever see his trailer.

"I wish I could say that I'll miss it here, but I won't," Trevor muttered as he passed by me on his way back inside.

I understood what he said. He had a lot of bad memories rooted in Sandy Shores. He spent ten years there; alone, angry, and depressed. It was the Trevor that I had met. It was the Trevor that I had seen slowly fade away over time.

He looked sad as he studied every detail of his trailer. He was leaving most of his belongings, namely his old furniture, behind. His clothes, weapons, and other random belongings were all boxed up neatly in the back of his truck. Mine would be shipped to our new home, along with my car.

I stood next to him and wrapped my arms around his waist. "Whatcha thinkin'?" I asked him.

"Just thinkin' about how much I hate this place."

I looked up at him as he stood in the middle of the kitchen, looking at his old home one more time.

"We should burn it down," I blurted out.

He laughed. "What?"

"Yeah," I nodded. "We should burn it down; get rid of the bad memories. They don't matter anymore."

He was silent for a moment before speaking up. "Let's do it."

I felt almost giddy as I poured his whole stash of alcohol all over the floor of his trailer. Sure, there were good memories of that place. That was where I fell in love with him. But I was still going to love him wherever we went.

I stood next to him in the road, watching the smoke and flames rising from our home. "Burn, motherfucker!" I shouted, laughing almost maniacally.

"God, I love you," Trevor chuckled.

"Ready to go?" I asked him. He nodded, still staring into the fire.

We drove off as the flames subsided, leaving behind a simple, rusted metal shell of a home. He reached across the seat to hold my hand, and I smiled to myself. Fuck Sandy Shores. Fuck the bad memories. Fuck everything that ever hurt Trevor and plagued his mind and made him feel alone. We were on our way.

We moved to North Yankton. Trevor missed the cold. I've had a hard time adjusting to it, but our home is warm and cozy. He bought our house in cash. It's nothing extravagant; a little two bedroom, one story house at the end of a dirt road.

There's a long driveway and a little deck attached to the front of the house. The front door opens up into the kitchen, and our table sits in the left corner of the room. The whole layout is open. You can see into our living room from the kitchen.

There's a little hallway to the right. The bathroom is the first door on the right, followed by our bedroom. The guest room is on the left hand side of the hallway. It's usually unused. We use the closet as storage, but the room sits untouched most of the time.

Our road ices up pretty bad in the snow. We're always the last street in town to get plowed. In the winter, I have to call out of work pretty frequently because of it. I work at the local coffee shop. It's the closest thing to our house, and even that is almost a twenty minute drive.

Trevor likes to come and visit me at work during his lunch breaks. He quit the meth business. He's trying to live a more normal life after leaving Sandy Shores. He doesn't break the law anymore; well, besides speeding. I couldn't manage to put a stop to that.

He took some classes at the local community college so that he could get a job at the manufacturing plant in town. He's been clean and sober for three months now, and I couldn't be prouder. He hasn't even had a beer. He's turned over a new leaf, but he's still the Trevor I love. He's still the same hot-headed, sarcastic, cynical man that I first fell in love with.

Julie loves him. They share the same sense of humor and outlook on the world. My parents and brothers are still warming up to him, but I know he'll win them over someday. Maybe once he decides to put a ring on my finger. I think it'll happen someday, but I'm not in a rush.

I miss my family out in San Andreas, but Trevor is my life, now. I don't have many friends. Neither does he. We both have a hard time making them. We're happy in each other's company. He's all that matters here. Life is good.

* * *

***So guys, quick note! I am so not ready to let go of this fic! I could've ended it here, but I am not ready! Haha So I'm going to keep it going! But the chapters to come will be a bit different. Much more fluff, more smut! Thank you guys SO MUCH for sticking by me as I write this, and I hope you all keep reading for the second part of this fic! ***


	17. Horror Movies

The Silence of the Lambs was on TV. I can't handle horror, and yet, I found myself watching the whole thing on my own. Trevor got home at nine in the evening to find me sitting up on the couch with the house lit up like a Christmas tree. Usually when he came home that late, he would find me curled up under a blanket in the living room by the dim light of the table lamp next to me.

"What's up with all the lights?" He asked as he hung his jacket up by the door.

"I watched The Silence of the Lambs."

"Oh God," he chuckled, "Why the fuck did you do that?"

"I don't know!" I laughed. "It was on and I got tied up in it!"

I held my arms outstretched towards him as he rounded the sectional sofa. He silently obliged, snuggling in next to me and wrapping his arms around me. I sighed happily and dropped my head against his shoulder.

"Damn it, I smudged my glasses," I grumbled. Trevor pulled them off of my face gently, folding them up and placing them on the end table. He leaned down and pressed his forehead against mine. He closed his eyes and let out a satisfied sounding sigh.

"I missed you," he whispered. "It was cold out today."

"I know," I mused, "That's why I stayed inside."

The ice maker clattered suddenly as new ice dropped into the tray in the freezer, and I jumped, startled by the noise.

"Jumpy?" Trevor chuckled. I nodded, and he laughed. "Stop watching horror movies on your own, you nut."

"I know," I groaned, "But now I have you here to protect me from anything."

"That's right," he answered.


	18. Anger

Sober Trevor didn't come without his own set of issues. The chemical dependency faded out as the highs and lows of his emotions kicked into high gear. He swung back and forth rapidly between manic and depressive. His anger didn't get any better as his sobriety set in. In fact, it got worse for a stretch of time.

I came home from work to find Trevor outside on the front lawn, swinging an axe at the cable box, which sat in pieces in the snow. He shouted profanities at it, and he stared at me with wild eyes as I got out of my car.

"What the fuck, Trevor?!" I swung my purse over my shoulder and rushed over to assess the damage he had done to the cable box.

"This fucking piece of shit doesn't work for shit!" He screamed. He swung the axe against the hard plastic over and over, punctuating each swing with a curse. "Fucking! Motherfucker! Fuck! Fuck! Shit!"

I stared at him, jaw hanging open, and tried to formulate the words to say. "We have to pay for that! What am I supposed to tell Comcast when I call?!" I shouted at him.

"You can tell Comcast to fucking choke on it! I'll go down there and personally rip out each one of their goddamn windpipes!" His face was red and twisted into a look of rage.

"We don't have the money for you to be smashing shit up, Trevor!" I gestured wildly at him as I shouted back at him. I hated when he got like this. I should've been more patient, but he just got so destructive when he was angry. "Get yourself under control!"

"Maybe I could if I didn't always have you breathing down my fuckin' neck! Get off my ass for once and maybe I won't be so fuckin' angry!"

I clenched my jaw and my eyes narrowed at him. He knew how to press my buttons, and he had done just that.

"Fuck you, Trevor! How dare you blame me for your problems!"

He screamed his profanities in my face. "They're your fucking fault!"

"I didn't ask for you to start smoking up or drinking yourself stupid! I was more than patient while you were getting clean! I didn't have to be!"

"Who said I wanted to get clean?! You fucking forced me into it!" He turned back to the cable box lying in the snow and started swinging the axe at it again; over and over. He screamed profanities at it; at me.

"Get control of yourself, you crazy asshole!"

I reached for the axe and attempted to pry it out of his hands before he could swing again. He gave me a death glare and shoved me away from him with enough force to make me stumble backwards into the snow. Pain shot through my hands as the heels of my palms scraped against the ice.

My heart hammered against my rib cage, and I looked up at him like a wild animal caught in a trap. He had gotten angry lots of times before; broken things, even. But he had never put his hands on me. Tears immediately sprung from my eyes, and I wiped them away quickly.

He looked at me in horror, realizing what he had just done. His grip on the axe loosened and he dropped it into the snow. He rushed to help me up, extending his hands out to me. I shoved them away, choosing instead to push myself off the ground on my own.

I stood as tall as I could in front of him, shoving a finger in his face. "Fuck you!" My voice cracked and wobbled, and I wiped another tear away from my cheek as I rushed inside the house.

I tore off my jacket and boots, leaving them strewn across the kitchen floor along with my purse. I stormed into the bathroom, locking the door behind me. I sobbed as I ran my bloody palms under warm water. This was the first time he had actually hurt me. I couldn't fully wrap my mind around it.

I heard the front door open and shut quickly, and I heard Trevor's boots rushing down the hallway. I squeezed my eyes shut as tears spilled out onto my cheeks. I didn't want to talk to him. I didn't even want to hear his voice.

"Sweetheart?" His voice was soft and filled with guilt as he stood outside of the bathroom door. "Can I come in, princess?"

"Go away!" I bit my lip, trying to fight back tears. I didn't want him to hear the weakness in my voice.

"Please, sweetheart," he pleaded with me, "I'm so sorry I pushed you. I wasn't thinkin' straight."

I didn't respond to him. I left the water running as I inspected the scrapes on my palms. It wouldn't leave any lasting damage, but they were skinned enough that they'd need to be bandaged up for a day or two. I sniffled, trying to keep quiet.

"Are you crying?" He sounded concerned and filled with regret. "Tara?"

"Go away, Trevor!"

"Not until we talk about this! Please, honey," he begged. I reached out a wet hand and unlocked the door, but left it closed still. Upon hearing the click, he called out to me through the door again. "Can I come in?"

My hands returned to the comforting warmth of the water coming from the faucet, and I took a deep breath. "Do whatever you want," I said coldly.

The door cracked open, and he looked at me through the opening. He moved into the room slowly, looking at me guiltily. His eyes widened when he looked down at my hands in the sink.

"I-I hurt you," he stammered, staring down at my injuries.

"Yeah," I answered bluntly, "You did."

"I'm so sorry, sweetheart," he said softly, placing a gentle hand on the small of my back.

I ignored his touch, choosing instead to turn off the water and carefully dry my hands on the towel. I hissed as I touched the fabric against the raw bits of skin on the heels of my palms. I reached into the medicine cabinet and pulled out a roll of gauze. The medical tape wobbled on the edge of the shelf before clattering to the floor. I sighed and moved to pick it up.

Trevor rushed to grab it off the floor for me and slid it onto the counter. He watched me with sad eyes as I attempted to bandage up my own hands.

"Let me help," he pleaded with me, reaching for the roll of gauze.

"Are you gonna hurt me again?" I said coldly, looking at him with a furrowed brow and a frown.

He shook his head quickly, looking at me like a dog who had just gotten caught going through the trash. "Never again," he told me.

I extended my hands out to him slowly and watched him as he silently bandaged up my hands. I sniffled again as he dropped the extra gauze onto the counter and reached for the medical tape. He looked at me with a broken expression when he saw a tear slide down my cheek.

"I'm sorry." He looked about a second away from tears. "I'm so sorry, Tara."

"Whatever," I muttered, turning away from him to put the medical supplies back into the cabinet.

He turned me back to face him with a gentle hand on my forearm. "It's not whatever. I hurt you. A real man never hurts a woman like that. I fucked up."

I stared up at him with teary eyes. I wanted to forgive him. "You need to get help, Trevor," I told him.

He nodded slowly and looked at me with a face full of guilt. "I know. I'm gonna to do that. I'm gonna find someone to talk to who can put me on some medication or somethin'."

"I thought you said you didn't want to take meds," I mumbled, staring down at my feet.

"I don't care what I said. I hurt you. I need help however I can get it." He reached out to me hesitantly, and wrapped his arms around me tightly when I didn't resist. "I'm sorry," he whispered.

"I love you," I said softly, "but I can't live like this forever."

He nodded against the top of my head and moved his hand to run his fingers through my hair. "I know. I'm gonna get help and I'm gonna get better and I'm going to be the kind of man you deserve. I'll be everything you want."

"Trevor," I said softly, staring up at him with big eyes, "You are everything I want. I just want you healthy; physically and emotionally. You're sober. Now you just need a little help."

"I just wanted to do it on my own," he sighed.

"It's okay to need help," I told him. The palm of my hand laid flat against his cheek, and the threads of the gauze caught slightly on his stubble. He nodded at me.

"I'll do whatever it takes."


	19. Fixing the Door

I stared at the tiny crack between the front door and the door frame with a frown. I bent down and pressed my hand against it, feeling the cold air seeping in.

"Trev, this crack has got to be why our electric bill is so high. The weather stripping is fucked."

He came up behind me and crouched down by the door, inspecting it by poking at it with his fingers. "The last owner must've had a cat. It's completely shredded."

I nodded in agreement. "That's what I was thinking."

"I'll run down to the hardware store and pick up some stuff to fix it," he told me, grabbing his coat off the back of one of the dining room chairs.

"You're so useful." I smiled sweetly at him and pressed a kiss to his cheek.

"That's what I'm here for," he chuckled, closing the door behind him as he left.

I stood in front of the stove, stirring the beef stew I had been making as I waited for Trevor to get back home. Our electric bill had been through the roof since the winter had started. After buying our house in cash, fully furnishing it and fixing the roof, the kitchen, and the front deck, our savings had begun to dwindle. We relied much more heavily on our income, and the electric bill was really taking a toll.

I frowned at Trevor as he walked through the front door, looking annoyed. "My truck got stuck in the snow at the end of the driveway; piece of shit. I miss my Bodhi." His precious red, rusted truck had been stashed away in our garage for the cold winter months, and he relied on his much newer, closed in truck.

He tossed the plastic bag he had been holding onto the table and crossed the kitchen to stand behind me, peeking over my shoulder.

"That looks good," he told me, staring down at the pot on the stove.

He made himself busy fixing the weather stripping as I finished cooking, and I bundled myself up when the cold rushed in through the open front door.

"That should be better, now," he exhaled, slamming the door shut and locking the deadbolt.

"Thank you," I cooed, kissing him quickly before filling up two bowls with the beef stew I had just finished making. "Here's your reward." I smiled at him and handed him one of the bowls.

He looked at it hungrily, and carried it over to the table where I joined him.

"I never ate so good before I met you," Trevor told me, his spoon clinking against the side of the bowl as he went in for more.

"I know," I teased him, "No more pop-tarts for dinner."

He gave me a sheepish grin, and moved his hand to grab mine across the table. "I love you, Tara. I really do. You make my life feel normal."

"You make my life weird," I laughed. He looked hurt for a moment, but smiled when I spoke up again, "But I like it that way."


	20. The Dressing Room

"Does this color look good on me?"

Trevor rolled his eyes at me from his seat in the dressing room. "It looks great."

My shoulders dropped and I let out an annoyed huff. "You barely even looked."

He looked up from whatever he was pulling out of the bottom of his boot and gave me a deadpan expression. "Sweetheart, we've been at this for over an hour. Everything looks good on you."

This wasn't the first time I had dragged him out clothes shopping with me, but usually I let him do whatever he wanted while I tried everything on. This time, though, I had pulled him into the dressing room with me. I needed something nice to wear to Trevor's company Christmas party.

I tugged at the waistline of the cranberry colored dress I was in, trying to figure out whether I liked how it looked or not. Trevor sat behind me, staring at me in the mirror.

"Tell me honestly. How does this look?"

He cocked his head to the side and took in my appearance. "You look sexy."

I smiled at him. "Stop. Seriously. How does it look?"

He stood up suddenly, pressing himself against me from behind. He leaned down a bit until his head was level with mine. "I told you. It looks sexy."

I giggled, and he planted his hands firmly on my hips, pulling my backside flush against him. "I'm serious," he grumbled, "I'd fuck you."

"Oh, would you?" I laughed. It's a good thing there was no one else in the dressing room. We weren't exactly speaking quietly. He nodded, and I let out a tiny gasp when his hand snaked up underneath my dress and stopped on the waistband of my panties.

"Trevor, we're in public," I hissed.

"I know," he muttered in response, but I could feel his growing erection against me. "There's no one in here, though."

His fingers plucked at the lacey waistband of my underwear, and he bowed his head to nip at my ear. My stomach did little flips as his hand slid into my panties, his fingers creeping towards my most sensitive area. His other arm reached around me to cup my left breast through my dress.

"Trevor," I whispered, "We can't."

"C'mon," he answered me quietly, "Haven't you ever wondered what it'd be like to get fucked in a public place?"

I stared at him in the mirror. His hand slipped back out of my panties, and he tugged them to the side, rubbing his fingers slowly along my slit.

"H-how would you do it?" I stuttered.

He let out a low chuckle, and he tugged at the top of my dress until my breasts were completely exposed. He pinched at my left nipple, twisting it gently between his thumb and forefinger.

"Well," he said slowly, "I would tear this dress off of you, and I'd press you up against that wall." He groped my breast firmly, and I closed my eyes to envision the picture he was painting for me.

"I'd lift you up; wrap your legs around me, and I'd fill you up." His middle finger sank into my core, and I gasped. "Yeah, you like that, huh?"

I nodded, leaning my head back against his shoulder as he pumped his finger in and out of me slowly.

"Tell me more," I said softly.

"You dirty girl," he laughed. "I'd fuck that tight little cunt; just pound it until you came all over my cock, all hot..." He thrusted a second finger inside of me. "And wet..." His fingers picked up speed, and I stifled a whine. "And so, so good."

It felt like half a second had passed before my dress and panties were on the floor, along with Trevor's shirt. I tugged at the zipper on his jeans and yanked them down, along with his underwear. My feet left the floor as he hoisted me up against the wall, just like he said he would. I wrapped my legs tightly around his waist and bit down on the taut skin along his collar bone.

"Fuck me," I begged him.

He positioned himself against my entrance quickly, and he was inside me before I had a chance to take a breath. We shared a breathy moan, and he sucked a burst of air in through his teeth.

"How'd you get so wet, kitten? Huh?" He immediately began fucking me at a steady pace, gripping my hips tightly and pushing me up against the wall with each thrust.

I wrapped my arms around his neck, pulling his face close to mine so I could kiss him. He melted into it, his tongue begging for entry against my lips, all the while, he was pounding into me as if his life depended on it.

"O-oh, fuck," I moaned, trying to keep my voice down. Trevor let out a wicked sounding laugh in response.

Both of us stopped dead when we heard footsteps outside of the dressing room. Someone was out there. We were frozen in place as we waited to hear whether this person was coming in to try on clothes or not. Trevor slid back into me slowly, and I bit down on his shoulder, trying to muffle a groan. He fucked me slowly; agonizingly slow, and silently.

"Trevor, p-please," I whispered.

The footsteps outside the door disappeared, and Trevor grinned at me. I yelped when he slammed into me, and his pace picked up again.

"M'gonna make you come all over me, princess," he grunted, "And you're gonna love every second of it."

My eyes fluttered shut and I rode out the sensation of him thrusting into me rapidly. "I-I'm close," I whimpered.

"Fuck yeah," he growled, "Come for me, kitten. Come."

My hand snaked down between us, and I rubbed my pearl in quick circles. "Oh God," I moaned, "I'm gonna- Fuck! Fuck! Fu-uck!" I cried out as I came, not caring anymore about how much noise I was making.

Trevor's hips began to lose rhythm. He was close. "Y-you wan' me to fill up that tight little pussy with my cum, huh, princess?"

I nodded and moaned, hypersensitive to each thrust as I came down from my high.

"Jeeesus Christ! Fuck!" His eyes snapped shut and his hips slammed into me as his hot seed spilled out inside of me. "Shit," he groaned, "God, I love that cunt."

I grinned at him as he lifted me off of himself and lowered my feet back to the ground. He kissed me so hard, it felt like it would bruise, and I moaned quietly against his lips.

"God, you're so sexy," he groaned.

I guess he liked the dress.


	21. Christmas Eve

Christmas is fun with Trevor. He never celebrated it as a kid, and as an adult, he had no one to celebrate with. I think he was too unhappy in his life to feel the joy of the holiday season. He loves it now. He's like a big kid. I miss my family on Christmas, but I would rather be snowed in at home with Trevor.

"Trevor, what is this?" I called to him from the living room. He stood at the kitchen sink, peeling potatoes as I had instructed him to do.

"What is what?" He answered.

I sighed, shaking my head as I tried to hide my smile. "Why is there an empty Chinese food carton hung up on the tree?"

He didn't turn to look at me, only threw his head back and laughed. "You said to put things on the tree that I loved!"

I pulled the cardboard box out of the tree branches as I laughed with him. "I meant ornaments, you asshole!"

"That is an ornament! There's some brass knuckles and a copy of Reservoir Dogs on there, too!"

"Where?!"

"It's a game," he answered me, "You have to find them!"

I searched the tree for his hidden objects and tried to look stern as I approached him in the kitchen. The whole place smelled like Christmas cookies. We had spent all of Christmas Eve baking and preparing food for Christmas dinner the next day. I grabbed a cookie from the cooling rack next to the stove and took a huge bite out of it.

"I have to stop eating these," I mumbled as I ate, "I've already had so many."

"You'll spoil your dinner," Trevor teased. I leaned forward and shoved the other half of the cookie into his mouth.

I helped him prepare the rest of the food for the next day until it was nine thirty at night. All that was left to do on Christmas was throw the ham in the oven and heat up the food from the fridge. I smiled at Trevor and stood up on my toes to kiss him on the cheek.

"Thank you for the help," I told him.

He stood in front of the microwave, heating up a plate full of leftover pizza. "All this amazing food, and we're eating reheated pizza," he complained. I knew he was dying to dig into that Christmas dinner.

"You never used to give a damn what you ate," I pointed out to him. I pulled a second plate out of the cabinet and slide it onto the counter next to the microwave. He watched me as I poured two glasses of water.

"I never cared when I was high," he responded, "Everything tasted the same; like cardboard." He tore open the microwave door right as the timer hit one second.

"Got it!" He exclaimed. "I beat the timer every time. That's why you don't hear me heating up leftovers at three in the morning. I never let the timer go off." He looked so smug, but his smile was goofy and playful.

"You're so weird," I giggled.

He groaned as he plopped down next to me on the couch, his plate in his hand. "I'm gettin' old," he grunted.

"You're still sexy, don't worry." I winked at him, and he chuckled.

We ate dinner quietly as we finished up the movie we had started that morning; Kill Bill: Volume 2. I had gotten him into Tarantino movies pretty quickly at the beginning of our relationship. I loved them for the storylines and the cinematography. He loved the blood and the guns and the fight scenes. Of course.

He fell asleep next to me with his plate still in his hand. I looked at him with love. Even with his head back on the couch behind him, mouth open, snoring through his nose, he was still perfect to me. I gently shook him awake, taking note of the time on the cable box.

"Huh?" He grumbled and looked at me through bleary eyes. "What?"

It was a quarter after midnight.

"Merry Christmas, Trevor."


	22. A Tiny Visitor

When I pulled out the trash from under the sink, there was a pair of tiny black eyes staring up at me. I shrieked and jumped away from the trash.

"Mouse!" I screamed. It wasn't that I was afraid of mice. I was actually pretty fond of the little fur balls. But opening the trash and seeing eyes staring up at you is always just a bit alarming.

Trevor looked back at me from his place on the couch. "What?"

"There's a mouse in the trash," I explained, speaking more calmly this time.

Trevor put his half empty dinner plate down on the side table and stood up, brushing the crumbs off of his lap. He came up to me and peered over my shoulder, staring at our tiny guest rifling through our garbage.

"Son of a bitch," he groaned. "I told you not to leave that bowl of candy out on the table."

"It was for guests," I said, sounding disappointed.

"What guests?" He laughed. He wasn't wrong. It had been ages since we'd had company over. The two of us enjoyed being alone. Well, alone together.

"I'll be right back," Trevor sighed.

"What are you doing?" I called after him as he stalked over to the front door.

"Going out to the garage to find something to kill it with," he said calmly.

"You can't kill it!" I stared into the garbage bag, watching it nibble at an apple core. "Look how cute he is," I cooed.

"So what, do you wanna put it in a cage and keep it?" He responded, sounding annoyed.

"Shut up," I said defensively. "We can bring him out to the woods and let him go."

"He'll just come back inside," Trevor disagreed, shaking his head as he put on his boots.

"Not if we bring him out far enough." I looked at him with big eyes and turned my lower lip down into a pout. "Please. We can't kill him."

Trevor's shoulders dropped, and he gave me a look of defeat. "Fine," he muttered. I slipped on my coat and boots as I watched him pull the trash can out from under the sink. He carried it out into the snow in just a t-shirt, boots and his pajama pants. I trotted after him as he stomped through the woods in back of our house. Finally, he picked a spot and stopped. I could barely see our house from where we stood.

"This should be fine," he said, laying down the trash can on its side.

I nodded in agreement, and helped him try to coax the mouse out into the snow. It scurried off in fear, and I looked at Trevor with satisfaction. "He won't come back," I said confidently.

"We'll see."

I sat up in bed later, reading a book as Trevor got ready for bed. He climbed under the covers next to me and mirrored my position, leaning back against the headboard. I slid my bookmark back into my book and closed it up, placing it on my nightstand.

"You know what?" Trevor began, and I looked at him in curiosity. "You make me a better person."

I smiled sweetly at him. "Why do you say that?"

"Because," he explained, "I was ready to just kill that mouse. But you insisted on letting him live. And I was thinkin' about it, and you were right. He didn't do anything wrong; he didn't deserve to die. I never woulda thought about it like that without you in my life."

"You came to that conclusion on your own, Trev. You're a much better and smarter person than you think you are." I took his hand in mine and scooted closer to him until my hip touched his.

He scoffed. "I used to kill people like it was nothing, babe." I winced slightly at his words, and he looked at me apologetically. "Now you've got me tromping through the woods in the cold so we can spare a little mouse."

I gave him a small smile, and kissed him on the cheek. "And you said you were too far gone to change."

"I thought I was."


	23. Temptation

Trevor had a coworker come by for dinner. His name is Paul, and he has a wife and two teenage kids. Trevor let him in the front door, and Paul looked at me in surprise.

"You're Tara?" He sounded shocked. He turned to Trevor, patting him on the back with a laugh. "How'd you land her, you ugly son of a gun?"

I frowned. "I happen to find him very handsome." I extended a hand out to Trevor's friend. "You must be Paul."

He nodded, greeting me cheerfully. The two of them sat at the table and complained about work as I pulled the meatloaf out of the oven and carried it over to the table.

"Thanks for this," Paul said, watching me as I filled his plate and handed it to him. He pointed at a six pack of beer on the table next to him and spoke again. "I brought these over for y'all as a thank you if you want one."

I looked over at Trevor, who shifted awkwardly in his seat. He made eye contact with me, looking desperate for help.

"No, thank you. I don't drink," I told Paul. I felt a tad rude, turning him down after he had been thoughtful enough to bring something over for us, but I wasn't about to drink in front of Trevor when he was trying so hard to stay sober.

Paul looked at Trevor, who cleared his throat awkwardly. He was silent for a moment before he spoke. "I try not to drink in front of the lady. She doesn't like it. Feel free, though. You're our guest; you can do whatever you'd like."

Paul nodded, cracking open one of the cans of beer. Trevor stared at it, looking forlorn. I squeezed his thigh under the table, and he looked at me with a weak smile.

I sat quietly while the two of them chatted through dinner, occasionally chiming in with a question or comment. Trevor walked Paul out when he left, and I stood at the kitchen counter, sealing up the leftovers from dinner in Tupperware containers.

Trevor glanced over at the almost full six pack on the table as he came back inside, and left it on the counter by the door. That's where we always left anything that needed to go out to the trash can or recycling bin.

"That was real hard," he admitted, watching me as he leaned against the counter top. He sounded almost ashamed of himself.

I stepped in front of him and took his hands in mine. "I'm proud of you," I told him softly. His eyes wandered back towards the six pack, and I tugged at his chin gently to get his attention focused on me again. "Hey. You're stronger than you think."

"I'm really not," he said quietly. "You don't know how bad I want one of those right now. Or three. Or four."

I grabbed the six pack off of the counter and carried it outside, shivering as the cold bit at my bare arms. I stepped back inside and shuddered at the warm air. "There," I declared, "Now the temptation is gone."

He shook his head, looking disappointed in himself. "I could just go outside and get that out of the trash if I wanted to."

"But you won't," I argued.

"How do you know?"

"Because," I said, "I know you."


	24. Tough Talks

I think my best friend Julie likes Trevor more than she likes me. The two of them get along famously, as if they've been friends their entire lives.

The two of them sat at the kitchen table as I put the finishing touches on dinner. Julie tossed a crumpled up sticky note in my direction, and it hit my arm and fell to the floor. She snickered.

"Why?" I sneered at her.

She shrugged and pointed in Trevor's direction. "Wasn't me," she answered.

I went back to the task at hand, pulling each shrimp out of the pan in front of me. I let out a frustrated huff when I felt another crumpled up bit of paper hit my shoulder. I looked over at the two of them at the table. This time, Trevor was the culprit. He frowned at me and shrugged his shoulders.

"Keep it the fuck up," I warned them with faux anger, "You guys will be sleeping outside tonight."

The two of them stifled their laughter and turned back towards the table as I carried each component of the meal to the table. I sat down next to Trevor and elbowed him in the side playfully.

"Jules, I'm so glad you could come stay for a few days," I told her as I filled each of our plates.

She nodded emphatically and spoke through a full mouth as she answered me, "Me too!"

The three of us ate in silence for a few minutes. We had been out all day and dinner couldn't have come soon enough. We were all starving.

"I like it here," Julie spoke up. She dropped her fork on her plate and took a sip of her drink. "You guys have a cute place."

I smiled sweetly at her. "Thanks, Jules."

There was a pleasant silence between the three of us until Julie whipped out, "So when are you guys gonna pop out a kid?"

Trevor practically slammed his glass down on the table, coughing and choking on his drink with a look of sheer panic in his eyes. Julie cackled. Evil bitch.

"A k-kid?" Trevor sputtered, still coughing in an attempt to clear his throat. He glanced in my direction, silently begging for me to speak up.

"I don't know that a kid is in the cards for us," I told Julie calmly. Trevor nodded frantically.

Julie sucked her teeth and looked at both of us in disappointment. "I don't have any siblings; how else am I supposed to be an aunt? You guys suck."

I laughed in response, but I could practically feel Trevor's panic radiating off of him. He stared down at his plate as if his grilled shrimp had just leapt up and tried to kill him. He swallowed hard and gripped his fork tightly.

"Trevor, relax," I chuckled.

He looked at me like a deer caught in the headlights. "Do you want a kid?"

I reached forward to pat him on the cheek playfully, and I looked at him with a sympathetic expression. "Quit freaking out, Trev. I want whatever you want."

He nodded thoughtfully, his eyes still wide. Julie looked pretty pleased with herself.

"I hate you," I told Julie.

She was still giddy over the panic she had caused at the dinner table when she retired to the guest bedroom that night. I sat at the end of our bed, slipping out of my jeans. Trevor looked at me with a thoughtful expression as he pulled his shirt off over his head.

He moved forward slightly to stand in front of me, and I reached up and ran my fingers over his hardened chest. I could never get enough when it came to touching him. His skin was tough and scarred, with calloused hands and toned muscles underneath. He was just so masculine and dangerous looking. I loved it.

He bent down to kiss me softly before sitting down next to me as I slipped into my pajamas. "Do you want a baby?" He blurted out.

My head snapped up to look at him. He sounded serious. "What?"

"Do you want a baby?" He repeated.

I avoided his question. "Why are you asking?"

He shrugged and stared down at his feet. "Just thought, if you wanted one, maybe I could give you one," he said softly.

"Oh, Trevor-"

"Only if you want to," he cut me off.

"I can't," I sighed. I could feel a pang of sadness in my chest.

"I just thought maybe-"

Now it was my turn to cut him off. "The PCOS, Trevor. I can't have a baby."

He knew about my polycystic ovarian syndrome pretty early on in our relationship. It was painful, erased my periods almost completely, and most significantly, made it basically impossible for me to get pregnant. Still, sometimes he forgot about it.

"Oh," he said quietly.

I felt a lump in the back of my throat, and I bit my lip hard. "You want a baby, don't you?"

"Maybe," he answered softly, "It doesn't matter, anyways."

I suddenly felt myself blinking back tears. He had never once mentioned wanting to have a child. I don't think he had ever considered it until that moment. And now I couldn't give him what he wanted. "I'm sorry," I told him, tears spilling out onto my cheeks.

He turned quickly to face me, taking my face in his hands and wiping the tears from my cheeks with his thumbs. "Don't be sorry," he rushed to comfort me. "It's not your fault."

I tucked my legs underneath myself and curled up into his side, wrapping my arms around his waist and letting out a quiet whimper. It was silent for a few minutes as I cried. Trevor stroked my hair gently with one hand, and rubbed my arm affectionately with the other.

His voice was nearly a whisper when he spoke up once more. "Could we still try?"

I sniffled and nodded against his shoulder. "We can still try, but it's such a slim chance, Trevor, I-"

He shushed me gently, tilting my head up to look at him with a hand under my chin. "Let's try anyways."


	25. One AM

"Sweetheart."

I stirred from my sleep, blinking away my drowsiness, and looked up at Trevor. I had fallen asleep on the couch watching TV again, laying down with my head resting on Trevor's chest. I had a habit of doing this. Often, we would sit down for the evening and snuggle up under a big blanket to watch a movie, and I would fall asleep halfway through.

"Hey," Trevor said softly, stroking my hair gently and patting me on the back, "It's one in the morning. Time for bed, babe."

I nodded slowly, not making any effort to move. He pushed the blanket away from my shoulders a bit, and I groaned and yanked it back up when I felt how cold it was.

"Too cold," I said simply, yawning as I laid my head back down against him.

"Do you want to take a shower before bed?" He asked. I lifted my head to look at him. He smiled softly at me. He knew what I liked. I loved late night showers. It would warm my skin and make me feel sleepy before crawling into our sheets, feeling nice and clean. I didn't care much that my hair left my pillowcase damp.

He snuck out from underneath me, leaving me on the couch as he disappeared into the bathroom. I listened as he closed the shower curtain and turned on the water. I rolled off of the couch slowly, keeping the blanket wrapped around me as I padded down the hallway. I stood in the bathroom doorway, wrapped up in my fuzzy blanket like a burrito, and fought off a yawn.

He gave me a sympathetic look. "Look at you," he chuckled. He took my by the shoulders and gently pulled me into the bathroom. "C'mere." He took the blanket away from me slowly, dropping it on the floor in the hallway. The steam from the shower had started creeping out from behind the curtain, and I didn't feel quite so cold.

He lifted my shirt over my head and dropped it on the floor beside us. Trevor's t-shirts were the only shirts I wore to bed anymore. They were oversized on me, and I especially liked them if they smelled like him. I held onto his shoulders for support as he helped me step out of my sweatpants and panties. He left them on the floor in a crumpled heap of fabric. I stood before him shivering as he quickly undressed, and he held open the shower curtain for me to step in in front of him.

I shivered as the warm water hit my skin, and I turned to look at him with a sleepy smile. I pulled him under the shower head with me, and he blinked away the water on his face as he smoothed his wet hair back on his head.

I grabbed the bottle of shampoo from the side of the bathtub, and squirted some into my hand before massaging it into my scalp. I did the same for him, rubbing the soap suds into his thinning hair. He closed his eyes and smiled at the sensation.

He turned and bent down to grab the bar of soap behind him. He gestured for me to turn around, and I did as I was told. He pressed the soap gently against my skin, lathering up my back. I tipped my head to rest it against the back of his hand as he soaped up my shoulders.

He reached around me, pulling my back against his chest as he rubbed the bar of soap along my stomach. "I love you," he said softly, dropping his head against mine.

I turned around and took the the soap from him to return the favor. "I love you, too." I stood on my toes to kiss him, and he scrunched his face up when I pulled away.

"Soap in my mouth," he explained, spitting out the taste and rinsing his mouth with the water shooting out of the shower head.

"Sorry," I giggled.

He looked down at me and furrowed his brow, trying to make himself look angry. He couldn't hide his smile. "You think that's funny?"

"A little," I answered with a cheeky grin.

He laughed and pulled me towards him, rubbing the soap suds out of my hair with his hands, while I did the same for him. "You're gorgeous," he mused, propping up my chin in his hand to look at my face. I smiled up at him and brushed my knuckles across his cheek.

He kissed me, softly at first, and then with conviction. There was a bit more of an urgency in the kiss when he pulled me close to him, grabbing at my hip bones and pulling me flush against his body.

"What are you trying to do to me?" I giggled.

"I'm trying to fuck you," he said bluntly. I felt a rush of warmth inside of me, and suddenly, I wanted him. He inched around me, reaching for the faucet. He turned the water off quickly, sending a cold chill down my spine, which only intensified when he tore open the curtain.

He stepped out onto the bath mat, not bothering to grab at his towel. I let out a surprised yip when he grabbed me by my waist and lifted me out of the tub. I wrapped my legs around him, kissing him firmly as he pressed my back to the wall. He made sure I was fully supported before he moved to press his palms against the wall behind me.

The floor around us was soaked, our bodies dripping wet as we kissed. I felt droplets of water from my hair sliding down my back, and I shivered. It was freezing. Trevor would warm me up.

We toweled off quickly, never breaking away from each other. His hands lingered over my skin as I dried off, and my lips only left his for a moment when I dragged my towel over my face. He lifted me up again, and I instinctively wrapped my legs around his waist once more. I threw my arms around his shoulders and pressed frantic kisses along his neck as he carried me to the bedroom.

He dropped me onto the bed and his body was immediately on mine. He held himself up with his hands on the mattress on either side of my head. I giggled when he dropped to his elbows and pressed a kiss to the tip of my nose. He looked at me for a moment, softly at first; lovingly. And then his expression shifted. It was purely animalistic and predatory.

His dipped down into the curve of my neck, and he sucked at the sensitive skin while his free hand wandered along my body, supporting himself on only his right arm. I yipped when his teeth sank into my neck. I liked a bit of pain in the bedroom; nothing crazy, but I enjoyed it. He let out a dark sounding chuckle and his knuckles grazed my nipple. His forefinger and thumb grasped at the sensitive bud, and he twisted it lightly until my eyes snapped shut.

I blinked suddenly when I felt his body move away from mine. He settled himself between my legs, looking up at me with a hungry expression. He always said he loved how I tasted, but I just wanted him to fuck me at this point.

"Trevor," I whined, "Please."

He shushed me as he pressed his thumb gently to my clit, rubbing in slow circles; so slow, agonizingly slow. His eyes were glued to his hand as he slid his middle finger inside of me and pumped it in and out slowly.

"Trev-" I began.

He shushed me again, pulling his finger out of me and reaching to press the tip of it to my lips. "I want you to taste yourself," he demanded. He stared at me intently as I did what I was told, taking the full length of his finger into my mouth.

"You taste that, baby?" He began, and I nodded, still sucking gently on his middle finger. "That's right. You taste like fuckin' candy."

He pulled his hand away from my face and rested it against my thigh. His head dipped down and his lips settled against my folds, where his tongue danced along the pink skin. He found my sensitive nub quickly, rolling his tongue around it in quick circles.

"Trevor," I sighed. I grabbed at his thinning hair, holding his head in place as he drove me towards my orgasm. He took everything that my body offered him, lapping at my folds hungrily. "Trev-" I started, cutting myself off with a satisfied sounding moan, "I'm gonna-"

"Mmmm," he hummed against me, and the vibrations pushed me further towards my climax.

I gripped the sheets in my balled up fists, white knuckles and all, and my legs tensed up when he slid two fingers into me.

"Relax," he said quickly before pressing his lips against my clit again.

His fingers thrusted into me at a rapid pace, and his tongue danced over my pearl. I could feel my orgasm approaching. My walls tightened around his fingers, and my body tensed up. I looked down at him, and he smiled against me, his tongue still hard at work.

"Oh God," I moaned, sounding frantic. I gripped the sheets harder until I could feel my nails digging into the palms of my hands. The sensation grew inside of me until I felt I was just about to burst. "Oh my God!"

I toppled over the edge, writhing against his touch as I came. He held me still with his free hand on my pelvis, still working me with his fingers and his tongue until my hips slowly dropped back down against the bed.

"Fuck," I sighed.

Trevor let out a low groan and crawled back up the bed until he was over me again. I could feel his erection throbbing against my inner thigh as he ground his pelvis down against mine.

"You're so sexy, babe," he sighed. He gave me a dark look before he opened his mouth to speak again. "I'm gonna fuck you."

My heart leapt up in my chest, and I could feel my excitement growing. He flipped me over quickly onto my stomach, and yanked my hips up so I was on my hands and knees. In a split second, his hand made contact with my backside, and a painful sounding smack rang out through the room. I yelped, and he answered with an evil sounding laugh.

"You like when I punish you, you dirty girl?" He rubbed the spot where he had just spanked me, touching me gently. I nodded and whimpered. "Use your words, sweetheart," he growled, the palm of his hand making brutal contact with my ass again.

"Yes, Trevor," I whined, "I love it."

He leaned forward and pressed the palm of his hand on my back between my shoulder blades, pushing my chest down against the bed. I yipped when he slapped my backside again, and again. God, he didn't hold back. I loved it.

"Mmm," he hummed, "Look at that nice pink ass."

"Please," I begged, trying to shuffle backwards on my knees, "Please, Trevor."

"You're gonna have to do better than that," he teased, grinding against my ass. "I need to know how much you really want it."

"I need it," I whined, "Please, I need your cock."

He chuckled and rubbed the head of his erection along my slit, paying careful attention to my clit. And then he slammed into me, filling me up completely, and I let out a lust-filled yelp. He pulled out of me completely before slamming into me again. The sheer force in his actions made me grip the sheets in order to keep my balance. My eyes fluttered shut as he picked up speed, thrusting into me as if his life depended on it.

"Oh, babe, you feel so good," he groaned.

He pulled my torso back up so I was supporting myself on my hands again, and he dropped his head against my shoulder. He let out a few desperate sounding huffs and wrapped an arm around my torso so he could fondle my breasts. He was rough as he played with my nipples, twisting each one between his fingers and tugging at them as he fucked me.

I moaned and he laughed darkly. His hand made forceful contact with the tingly skin on my buttcheek where he had slapped me before, and a loud snap reverberated through the room. I squeezed my eyes shut and gripped the sheets tightly as he had his way with me.

"Oh-ho, yeah," he groaned, his voice cracking and becoming shaky as he spoke. He punctuated each word with a particularly rough thrust of his hips. "Fucking... Take it... Like... A good... Girl."

"I'm so close," I moaned, craning my neck to look back at him.

He gave me a warning look, and stared at me intently. "Don't you fucking come until I tell you."

"I can't help it!" I cried out. I tried to hold back my mounting pleasure, but it was difficult. His voice, his words, the way he fucked me... It was all too much. "Please!" I begged. "Please, Trev!"

He reached forward and pressed the pads of his fingertips against my pearl, rubbing me hard and fast. "Not yet," he growled.

I was dripping wet for him. I was ready to burst at any second, but I had to hold back. I knew what got him close to his own climax. He liked the control. I wanted to give him what he demanded of me.

"Please!" I grabbed onto his arm and dug my nails into his skin as he pleasured me with his hand.

"Alright," he grunted, his voice uneven and rough. I could tell he was close, too. "Come," he ordered.

"Fu-uck!" I fell apart, moaning and whining as my chest dropped down against the bed. I groaned against the sheets as my climax ripped through me, pulsing around his cock. He slapped my ass once more, and he let out a rough, gravelly sounding groan as his strokes began to lose all rhythm.

"I'm gonna blow my load inside this perfect little cunt, ya hear me?"

I nodded frantically, whimpering at the sensation. I was always more sensitive immediately after my climax, and each thrust into me was almost too much pleasure to bear.

"Fuck! Fuck! Jesus Christ!" His hips slammed into my backside, and I felt his warm seed spill over inside of me.

He pushed my hips down against the bed and collapsed on top of me. He pulled out of me with an almost pained-sounding groan, and quickly began pressing kisses along my right shoulder. He rolled over onto his side, facing me, and I mirrored his body language, looking at him with a pleased but dazed expression.

"I love you so much," he said between ragged breaths. He reached out a shaky hand to push my hair away from my face, and he looked at me with love.

"I love you, Trevor."


	26. A Funeral

My grandmother was ninety two when she died. I got the call at three in the afternoon. I sat on the couch, staring out the window through eyes blurry with tears. I couldn't fully process the news; not yet.

I didn't turn to look at Trevor as the front door opened and shut. "Babe?" He sounded worried. Usually, I greeted him with an enthusiastic smile and a kiss.

"Grammy died," I mumbled, tears stinging my eyes.

I heard the zipper on his jacket clink as he dropped it on the table, and he knelt down on the floor in front of my seat on the couch. He reached for my hands, and pressed a kiss against my knuckles. "When?"

"A few hours ago," I sniffed. "My mom just called and told me."

He looked up at me with eyes full of sorrow and concern. "What can I do to help?"

I shrugged, staring down at my lap. "There's nothing you can do."

He slid between me and the arm of the couch, wrapping his arms completely around me. He tugged at my legs, pulling them up onto his lap so that they hung across him. I dropped my head against his shoulder, and he rubbed my back slowly.

"I wanted to be there at the end," I cried, "I knew she was sick, but I thought she had longer. I feel so guilty."

"Don' blame yourself, babe. You had no way of knowing."

"What if she thought I didn't love her enough to be there?" I buried my face in his shoulder, soaking his flannel shirt with my tears. He didn't seem to care.

"Oh, sweetheart," he said softly, "She knew how much you loved her. It was clear."

"How do you know?"

"Because," he began, "Everyone can see how much you love the people in your life. Hell, I'm an idiot and I can tell. For some ungodly reason, you love me, and you make it very clear. Trust me, Tara; she knew."

I looked at him with sad eyes. How did he always know what to say? I dissolved into tears, and he held my head in his hands, pressing soft kisses all over my face.

"Do you want some tea?" He asked. I paused for a moment, and then nodded.

I wiped the tears away from my face with my shirt sleeve, and twisted my body around on the couch to watch Trevor in the kitchen as he prepared a cup of tea for me. He was so good to me.

"Thank you," I murmured, taking the mug out of his hands as he returned to me. He reclaimed his seat next to me and watched me take a tentative sip of tea, testing the temperature of it. "I have to fly out to Los Santos tomorrow night. The funeral is on Saturday."

"I?" He echoed. "We."

"Are you sure? You hate the city."

"I'm coming with you," he insisted, pushing a stray lock of hair away from my face with a few fingers.

I yawned and reached towards the coffee table to grab my laptop. "I need to find a cheap flight for us, then."

"No," Trevor argued, "You need to take a nap. You look exhausted. I'll book the flight. Don't you worry your pretty little head about it."

He pulled my blanket up around my shoulders and took my laptop out of my hands. I laid my head against him as he pulled the lever on the side of the sofa to recline the seat.

"Go to sleep," he whispered, craning his neck to kiss me on the forehead.

"I love you," I murmured.

"I love you more."


	27. Relapse

Living at the end of the road is mostly nice. The distance between us and our neighbors is substantial. It's enough that we can't see any porch lights from our front yard. The long driveway in front of our house, although a bitch to snowblow in the winter, is a good barrier between us and the rest of the neighborhood. It's like our own little world, and we both like it that way.

At night though, the silence and the darkness outside can be a bit unnerving; not when Trevor is home to protect me, but when I'm alone. Sometimes he works late and I sit up alone in the living room, hyperaware of every little noise.

I sat down on the couch with a bowl of mini wheats and pulled my blanket up over my lap. It was after midnight, and I should've been in bed, but I like waiting up for Trevor to come home. I had binge-watched Friends all night, and I kept at it as I waited for the front door to open. He was out particularly late, and I blinked away the drowsiness that threatened to put me to sleep.

I let out a yawn, and practically jumped out of my skin when I heard a loud thud outside the front door. I peered over the back of the couch, trying to stay hidden while also trying to identify the source of the noise. The porch light illuminated the front deck, but I couldn't see anything through the window of the door.

My heart pounded in my chest, and I swallowed hard as I tried to figure out what to do. I muted the TV and listened intently for any more noise; nothing. I searched frantically for my phone, which was buried under the blanket draped across my lap. I pressed the numbers on the keypad with a shaky finger, and waited to hear Trevor's voice, but it kept ringing. He never ignored my calls.

I furrowed my brow when I heard his phone ringing outside the door. I crawled out from under my blanket and padded across the cold kitchen floor to peer out the window above the sink.

There was Trevor, laying face down on the stairs, as if he had tripped and fell on his way up. He grabbed at his phone, squinting at the screen before dropping it haphazardly in the snow beside him. Was he hurt? I slipped on my snow boots and rushed outside, shivering as the cold air nipped at my bare arms.

"Trevor?" I hurried to his side and squatted down beside him to get a read on the situation.

He turned his head in the other direction, avoiding eye contact with me as he attempted to push himself up into a kneeling position.

"Hey," I brought his attention back to me with a gentle palm on his cheek. His skin was freezing. Not surprising, he had been essentially laying in the snow. "What's going on?"

His face contorted into an almost pained expression and he sniffled. "I fucked up!" He buried his face in his hands and let loose a shaky sob. "I drank, Tara! I'm drunk!"

My heart sank. He had been doing so well. I focused on priority number one: getting him out of the cold. Wordlessly, I helped him back onto his feet, shoving his phone into the pocket of my sweatpants. I wrapped my arms around his waist to support him as he stumbled towards the door.

He pushed me away and threw himself against the wooden railing by the door, vomiting off the side of the deck. He groaned and turned back to face me. His eyes were brimming with tears, and he looked devastated. I helped him into the house, and his body swayed as I took off his coat.

I turned to drop his phone on the counter and looked back to see him stumbling backwards as he attempted to take off his boots. His head collided with the wall behind him as he fell, and he cursed. He was a wreck, and my heart felt heavy as I looked at him. He crawled up onto his knees and stayed that way, sobbing into his hands.

I rushed to kneel in front of him, and I wrapped my arms around him. He buried his face in the crook of my neck. He was soaking wet from the snow, and he shook violently. I couldn't tell if it was from crying, or from the cold. Maybe both. I hugged him tight, trying to ignore the cold water seeping into my own clothes.

"I'm sorry!" He cried, hugging me back.

"Why are you sorry?" My voice was soft and filled with concern.

"I disappointed you."

"Trevor," I said quietly, "You didn't disappoint me."

He pulled away from my hug and looked at me with a broken expression. "B-but I drank." He was shivering, and his teeth chattered as he cried.

"I know," I sighed. I reached forward to smooth back his thinning hair, which had become quite disheveled. "I'm not disappointed in you. You're trying your best. You just made a little mistake. We all make mistakes, you know."

"I'm drunk!" He sobbed, wiping his eyes dry with his shirt sleeve.

"Trevor," I began, trying to tread carefully, "Did you disappoint yourself?"

His face scrunched up and he nodded as he covered his face with his hands. I pulled him back into my arms, rubbing his back in little circles as he wept.

"You know, this is normal, Trevor."

He glanced at me with a puzzled look, making no effort to escape my embrace. "How?" He asked.

"Relapse is a part of recovery. It's only a little step backwards. Most addicts relapse at least once after they get clean. You've been doing so well. This is just one slip-up. I know you'll have the strength next time to say no."

"How do you know?" He sniffled. His voice was muffled as he spoke into the fabric of my pajama shirt.

"Because I know you, Trevor. I know what you're capable of." I lifted his head up gently to look him in the eyes. "And you know what?" I said softly, "If you do this again, I'm still going to love you. And I'm still going to believe in you."

He nodded against me, taking in the words that I said. His fingers pressed into my skin firmly, as if he was afraid I would float away. He was shivering as he held onto me, and I pulled away from his embrace to help him off the floor. He stood up in front of me, holding onto me for balance, and stared down at me with sad eyes.

I stood up on my toes to kiss him on the nose, and he leaned into my touch as I stroked his cheek. "Stay here," I told him as I gestured at a chair by the table. He nodded at me, his eyes glassy and wet, and he did what he was told.

I hurried down the hallway and into the bedroom, where I poked through his drawers for a pair of sweatpants. I returned to him where he sat at the table, bent over with his head in his hands, rested against his knees. He groaned and looked up at me weakly.

"C'mere," I said softly. He sat up and let me help him out of his shirt and jeans.

"My head hurts," he complained. He watched me passively as I rolled his sweatpants up his legs, and he helped me out by lifting his hips off of the chair.

"I bet." I brushed his hair back with my hand and helped him back up to his feet. He followed me into the living room on shaky legs, and he tossed himself onto the couch. He watched me as I left the room.

I padded across the kitchen floor, putting on a pot of coffee. I glanced out the window above the sink as I washed Trevor's favorite mug. It was snowing; not a lot, but gently. I stared at the back of his head as he sat quietly on the couch. I was impatient for the coffee to be done. I just wanted to sit with him.

He hummed something to himself as he sat waiting for me. He was still sniffling, but he wasn't crying anymore; at least not that I could tell from where I stood in the kitchen. I grabbed the coffee pot off of the burner and poured it into his mug. I didn't bother with cream or sugar. He preferred it black, anyways.

I rounded the couch and left his coffee mug on the end table. He still looked freezing. I sighed and looked at him sympathetically.

"C'mere, baby." I tugged at the blanket that was folded between him and the back of the couch.

"You called me baby," he said slowly as I wrapped the blanket around him.

He knew how I felt about pet names. He called me by them all the time, and that was fine. I had grown fond of some of his sweet names for me. I just preferred to use his name most of the time. I nodded at him and smiled softly.

"Why?" He asked.

"Because," I began, handing him his coffee mug, "I love you. And sometimes you just need to hear it."

I sat down next to him and folded my legs up underneath myself, burrowing into the blanket with him. I leaned my head against his shoulder as he took a sip of his coffee. He put it down on the end table next to him, nearly spilling it along the way.

"I love you so much," he sighed, dropping his head against mine.

"I love you more."

My fingers intertwined with his and he traced little circles against my hand with his thumb. He sniffled, and I could tell he was near tears again by the way he inhaled. It was shaky and uneven.

"I mean it," he exhaled.

I looked up at him, not moving away from his side. A tear had escaped his eye, and he wiped it away quickly with his free hand.

"I need you, princess. I wouldn't have even been able to stay clean as long as I did without you." His words were slow and slurred together. "Can't believe you ever came back to me after how I treated you at the beginning. Why did you come back? I was just a strung out junkie and a drunk."

I smiled to myself as I dropped my head against him again. "Because I always saw who you are now. That wasn't you. This is you, baby."

He shifted underneath the blanket to pull his feet up onto the couch. He scooted away from me so that he could lay his head in my lap. He looked up at me as I slowly traced his facial features. His eyes were relaxed, and he looked vulnerable.

His eyes drifted shut as I spoke to him softly. "I'll always come back to you. No matter what. You could relapse a thousand times and I would still love you more every day."

"I won't do that," he mumbled, the drowsiness creeping up on him.

"That's right." I smiled down at him. "I know you won't."

He smiled, not bothering to open his eyes, and he turned over onto his side, facing me.

I inhaled through my nose, and looked down at him as I ran my fingers gently through his hair. He was nearly asleep.

"I would do absolutely anything for you," I murmured.


	28. Father

I hadn't spoken to Trevor in a few days. He came back from a trip out to San Andreas on a Friday night; his flight came in late. But when he dropped his bag on the floor in the kitchen and stormed into the bedroom without a word, I knew something was wrong. I had expected a warm greeting, a hug and a kiss. Instead, he ignored me.

I padded down the hall and looked at him through the open doorway. He was hunched over at the end of the bed, head nearly between his knees. His back rose and fell, hard and quick with each breath he took.

"Trev?" I stood awkwardly before him, picking at my cuticles nervously. He didn't look up at me, just gave me a hum of recognition. "Is everything okay?"

"It's just fine," he mumbled. His fingers tangled into his thinning hair, and he took a deep, shaky breath.

I shifted my weight, looking for him to expand on his statement. He said nothing else. "What happened in LS?"

"I wasn't in LS," he answered me quietly.

"But I thought-"

"I was in Liberty City."

"Oh," I said softly, "Why?" Something was very wrong; I could tell.

"I killed him." He finally lifted his head to look at me. His eyes were glassy and cold. For the first time ever, I couldn't read his face. I had no idea what he was feeling.

"Who?" I asked.

Trevor hadn't killed so much as a fly since we had moved to North Yankton. He gave up his old ways when he got clean. That's not to say it was easy for him; it was an uphill battle, to say the least. I stood in the doorway, waiting nervously for an answer. He spoke slowly when he answered me.

"My father."

My heart stopped. He had always talked about the things that he would do if he ever found his father. I put the pieces together as I looked at him blankly. He had hunted him down, and then told me he was going out to Los Santos to visit Michael and Franklin. He had this plan in mind all along.

"You found him?" I tried to speak up, but my voice came out hushed and hoarse. He nodded slowly. It looked as though he hadn't processed it, himself.

"Found out where he lived and broke in. The fucker tried to kill me. My own fucking father; he tried to kill me."

"Are you okay?" I wanted to move. I wanted to rush to his side and comfort him. My body wouldn't let me. I was frozen.

"Never better," he replied, his voice thick with disgust and sarcasm. "I strangled him. All these years, I said I'd kill him if I found him. I got to watch the life leave his cold, dead eyes." I winced at his words. He didn't take the hint. "I heard his windpipe crack before he died."

I felt a little sick. I knew from the beginning about the things that Trevor did, but I never wanted to know the details. I cleared my throat and forced myself to take a few small steps forward. I searched for the right words to say, but my mind failed to come up with them.

Trevor filled the silence as he spoke up again. "Y'know," he said slowly, his voice quiet, "I always thought, 'Fuck, if I ever got the chance to kill him, I'd revel in it.' But I did it; I killed him... And I don't feel good."

I bridged the gap between us, sitting down on the bed next to him. I sat about a foot away, resting my hands uncomfortably in my lap. I stared down at my knees.

"How do you feel?"

"I feel... I feel like a fucking monster." His voice wavered slightly, and he cleared his throat awkwardly.

"You're not," I responded, trying to offer him some sort of reassurance.

"I killed my own father, Tara." He turned to look at me, and I stared back at him with big eyes. He looked depressed. "Tell me that you won't see me differently from now on. I bet you can't tell me that. What kind of a person kills his own father?"

"One who was hurt," I whispered, "Very much so."

He shook his head and looked away from me. "I didn't have to do that. Everything was going great, here. This was our fresh start. And then that little worm inside my head just crawled in and I found myself searching every corner of the internet in a pathetic attempt to find him. I ruined our fresh start."

I sighed. "You did what you had to do."

"What?" He balked. His head shot back up and he looked at me in shock.

"You would've lived the rest of your life wondering where he was, wanting to see him dead. Well, you saw it happen. Now it's over and you can finally move on from him."

My words made sense to me, oddly enough. I had spent enough time with Trevor that killing someone could be considered 'moving on.' Maybe that made me as crazy as him.

He laughed; it was hollow and humorless. "Well, now you can say that your boyfriend truly is a cold-blooded killer."

"I don't care what you are," I whispered back to him. My hand crept into his lap to find his, and our fingers intertwined. His hand was calloused; scarred and hardened. Much of him was.

His father had it coming.


	29. Gifts

I painted our entire neighborhood over the course of about a month. It was a picturesque little street, especially in the spring. The piles of snow had slowly melted away, making way for fresh green grass. The trees had begun to bloom, and flowers had sprung from the ground. It made for perfect painting inspiration.

I sat in the living room in front of my easel when I heard the front door open and shut. I turned in my seat to look at Trevor as he hung up his sweatshirt by the door.

"Hellooo, gorgeous," he greeted me with a grin and extended his arms out in a grand fashion. "Looking as beautiful as always!"

"Hi Trev," I giggled.

He approached me as I turned back to my painting, and pressed a kiss against the top of my head. He bent down to my eye-level and looked over my shoulder at my work in progress.

"That's the flowerbed out front," he said confidently. I nodded. "What's with all the flowers and trees lately?"

"It's spring!" I pointed out the obvious. "And they make me happy."

He stood up behind me, gently pulling my hair away from my face and gathering it at the nape of my neck. "Well, alright, Bob Ross. Paint your happy little trees. I've gotta grab some stuff outta my truck."

He slammed the front door behind him as he went back outside. Of all the habits I wished he would break, slamming doors was one of the ones highest on the list. I chewed on the inside of my cheek as I stared at the canvas in front of me. Trevor returned a few minutes later with armfuls of plastic bags, looking at me sheepishly.

"What the hell is all that?" I asked him.

"I went grocery shopping without you; what'd you expect to happen?"

The man had no self control. I knew what to expect as I helped him put the groceries away. Junk food; chips, pop-tarts, tons of ice cream and frozen pizzas.

"Trevor," I sighed, "What happened to eating healthier?"

He shrugged as he slid a jar of peanut butter into the cabinet in front of him. "I was hungry when I went to the store."

"Ah, rookie mistake," I laughed. "Always eat before you go."

I stood up on my toes as I tossed three bags of chips on the top shelf. In an instant, Trevor had come up behind me, and was wrapping a simple gold necklace around my neck. It was dainty and feminine; a little pearl encircled with tiny diamonds hanging from a thin gold chain.

I touched it gently as he fiddled with the clasp. "What's this for?" I turned and smiled up at him.

He shrugged at me and wrapped his arms around my waist. "I haven't gotten you anything in a while."

"You don't have to get me things, Trevor. Seriously."

"Do you not like it?" He sounded hurt and he looked at me with insecurity.

"No, no, I love it!" I rushed to reassure him, and I moved my hands to rest them on the back of his neck. "I'm just saying, you don't need to buy me presents all the time."

"Yes, I do," he argued.

I inhaled the smell of his aftershave as I rested my head against his chest. "Why?" I murmured.

"Because I don't have much else to offer."

"Stop it." My head snapped up to look at him, and I furrowed my brow. "I love you."

"I love you too." His eyes were soft as he looked down at me. He took my face in his hands and planted a kiss on my forehead, looking at me with love. "Did you ever love Patrick like you love me?" He blurted out suddenly.

I stared at him in shock. That had come out of left field. I knew he had insecurities, and I knew he worried sometimes about feeling inadequate, but I hadn't expected a question like that.

"No," I answered him simply.

"No? That's it? That's all I get?"

I sighed. "I loved him once. He was my best friend. I could've lived my whole life with him and had no complaints." Trevor's shoulders dropped, and he looked brokenhearted. "But I didn't know how much happier I could be until you came along."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean there's more to a relationship than being best friends. There's love, and then there's being in love."

He looked confused. "What's the difference?"

"Love is a simple enough concept, right? You care about someone; you admire them, want to be around them. That's love. Being in love is like... It's like when I look at you and my breath catches in my throat. My heart speeds up and I feel warm inside."

He smiled at me softly. "What else is it like?"

I paused as I tried to put my thoughts into words. "It's like... When I try to think about a life without you in it. I can't even picture it. I could've lived without Patrick. I mean, I have, clearly. But you... You are absolutely everything to me. Your laugh makes my stomach do a little flip. Your touch... It's like it lights a fire in me."

He looked close to tears as he spoke up. "I'm in love with you." He sounded as if he had just realized it. Maybe he had. Sometimes love can be a hard concept to grasp for someone who went without it for so long.

"And I'm in love with you," I told him softly.

"I'm not good with words," he chuckled, "You know that." He touched the necklace he had just put on me with two fingers. He fiddled with it gently, staring at me with a soft smile. "Maybe that's why I buy you presents... I don't know how else to tell you how I feel."

"You don't have to, Trevor," I told him, "I already know."


	30. Coming Back

Trevor left. He said he "couldn't do it anymore." I asked him what "it" was. He said he couldn't put it into words. I had felt him pulling away for a while. He was distant when I spoke to him; conservative with his words. He shied away from my touch. It tore me apart.

When he left, we both cried. I sat on the bed and watched him pack a suitcase. I begged him to stay. He said that leaving was "just something he had to do." I made him breakfast that morning in a last ditch effort to get him to stay. I felt like I was trying to inflate a balloon with a hole in it. He took two bites of his eggs and stood up to clear his plate.

He told me that he didn't know where he was going to go. He just knew he had to leave. Before he opened the front door, he looked at me like the light had gone out of his eyes. I held his hands and I asked him one more time to stay.

"Why are you leaving me?" I cried.

"I don't think I love you anymore," he answered me. He didn't sound angry. He just sounded sad, as if he didn't want to hurt me. "I want to love you," he said, "I just don't know how."

We held each other on the front porch and cried. I felt like my world had shattered as I watched him pull out of our long driveway. I spent two weeks without him, just trying to function. I called out of work for the first week straight. I slept on the couch every night. Seeing his side of the bed empty would've been too painful.

I cried every night until my eyes were red and swollen. I was going through the motions every day; not really living. The loneliness set in immediately after he left. I went an entire week never speaking a single word out loud. I was completely alone.

I went to the shelter and got a cat midway through the second week. I thought maybe it would help my mental state, having another creature at home to interact with. She's two years old and she's a little ball of grey fluff. Her name is Sadie. I thought she would help. Maybe she did a little, but the effect was minimal. I just wanted Trevor.

It took everything in me not to call him every night. Everything reminded me of him. Reservoir Dogs came on TV one night and it hit me square in the gut. He loves that movie. I sobbed into my fuzzy blanket until I felt sick. And then I heard a car door out front. It was eleven at night.

The doorbell rang, and I stared at the front door warily. Fuck it, I thought, who cares if I die? I cracked open the door just enough to stick my head through and see who was there. And then he was on me, hands all over me, lips pressed against mine. It was Trevor. He came back.

"What are you doing here?" I asked when we came up for air.

"I love you," he spat out quickly, and then pressed his lips against my neck. I inhaled sharply when his teeth sank into my skin. "I love you so much." His words tumbled out of his mouth all at once, as if he couldn't say them fast enough.

"I love you," I answered him in a raspy voice, wrapping my arms around his waist.

He pawed at the zipper on my sweatshirt, unzipping it quickly, pushing it off of my shoulders, and letting it fall to to floor behind me. His hands roamed my body almost frantically, and his tongue begged for entrance as he kissed me hard.

He had pressed my backside against the edge of the kitchen counter, essentially trapping me between him and the granite countertop. He tugged at my shirt, and I was quick to wriggle out of it as he pulled it over my head.

His hands were on my neck and he kissed me deeply. "God, I missed you," he exhaled against my lips, and I smiled against his.

His hands trailed down my sides to rest on my hips, and he gripped me tight. He thrust a leg between mine, applying firm pressure to the growing heat between my legs. He bowed his head and trailed his tongue up my neck before clamping his teeth down on my earlobe.

He stopped suddenly. "Is that a fucking cat?"

I turned to look at Sadie, who sat on the counter, staring directly at Trevor. "I was lonely," I said sheepishly. "Her name is Sadie."

"I don't care," he grunted, grabbing me roughly and pulling me back in for another kiss.

He tugged at my hand until it rested at the waistband of his sweatpants. I was eager to slip my hand underneath, taking his hardened cock in my hand. He hissed when I started pumping it quickly, paying close attention to the sensitive head. His eyes fluttered shut, and he clenched his jaw hard.

"Fuck," he sighed, thrusting into my hand. He groped me through my bra for a short moment, before losing his patience and fiddling with the clasp. It fell to the floor beside us, and he stared at my chest hungrily.

"You're a fucking goddess." His hand slipped into my sweatpants, and he rubbed the wetness in the seat of my panties. "Oh, you're wet," he whispered.

I grabbed at the fabric of his shirt, pulling it over his head and dropping it on the floor. I ran my hands over his chest and bit my lip hard. God, he looked so good. I had been so depressed about him being gone that having sexual thoughts about him seemed like a far off fantasy.

He looked down at me with pure lust in his eyes, and he pushed my sweatpants and my panties down over my hips until they fell to the floor around my ankles. I stepped out of them quickly, and he hoisted me up so I could wrap my legs around him.

He carried me to the couch, practically tossing me onto it, and he was on top of me instantly. His fingers found my clit quickly, and my body twitched as he touched me.

"I want you," I whispered. "Make love to me."

He nodded frantically, allowing me to help him out of his sweatpants and his underwear. I could feel him pressed against my inner thigh, and I panted in anticipation. He braced himself, positioning himself over me so that his weight was supported on his hands either side of my head, and then thrust inside of me.

"Oh, god," I sighed. My breathing hitched, and I stared up at him with love as he began stroking into me at a steady pace.

He lowered himself against me so that he chest was pressed against mine, and he grunted into my ear as he fucked me. "Did you miss my cock, princess?"

I nodded against his shoulder, whining at the sensation he was giving me. I wrapped my legs around his waist to allow him better access, and he took it eagerly. I took his face in my hands as I kissed him. It felt as if I couldn't get close enough to him. Each thrust felt like heaven, and I wanted more and more.

"I love you so much," I panted.

"I love you," he answered between frantic huffs, "I missed you."

His hips picked up speed, and his head dipped down into the crook of my neck, where he let loose a gravelly sounding groan.

"Please never go again," I whispered.

His face was so close to mine that our noses bumped with every thrust into me. "I'm here," he answered me.

My arms tightened around him and I dug my nails into his back, dragging them down his sides. It spurred him on. He bared his teeth and stared at me intensely. "Do that again," he demanded.

I did as I was told, leaving red lines across his skin as I dragged my nails against him. I was getting close, and I could tell he was too, by the sounds he was making.

"T-Trev-" I stammered, "Please."

"Come for me," he grunted, struggling to get the words out, "I w-wanna make you feel good."

I gripped him tightly as the feeling grew inside of me. "Fuck! Oh my God!" He wrapped a hand around my throat, and like clockwork, I climaxed hard, moaning and whining into his ear.

"I love that sound, baby," he groaned. "I'm c-close."

I held his face still as he thrusted into me, his hips beginning to lose rhythm. I looked him in the eye, and spoke to him softly, still trying to catch my breath.

"I love you so much, baby," I whispered.

He squeezed his eyes closed and tightened his hand around my throat. "I love you!" He cried out. "Fuck! Fuck! Jesus Christ!"

He came hard, filling me with his hot seed, and collapsed on top of me moments later. He buried his face in my hair and inhaled, panting as he tried to catch his breath.

"My God," he exhaled as he pulled out of me slowly, "You are perfect."

He reached for the box of tissues on the end table, and handed me a few before cleaning himself off. I crawled over next to him and leaned my head against his shoulder.

"Why did you leave?" I said quietly.

"I got scared," he admitted to me, his voice soft and filled with shame.

"You said you didn't love me anymore," I told him, my voice wobbling as I tried not to cry.

"I thought saying that would make leaving easier." He wrapped his arms around me and pressed a kiss against the top of my head. "I could never stop loving you."

"I missed you so much." I bit my lip as I tried not to cry, but the tears slipped out anyways. "How do I know you won't leave again?"

He exhaled slowly. It was silent for a while. Neither of us rushed to speak; we were happy in each other's company. He was the one to finally talk.

"Marry me."

My head shot up to look at him. "Stop," I told him.

"I'm not kidding," he pressed, "Marry me."

I smiled up at him and planted a kiss on his lips. "I love you."

"So is that a yes?" He asked.

"Of course," I sighed.

Everything was right again. I had always wondered if that question would come someday, but I had never felt the need to push it. If he had never brought it up, I would've happily stayed his girlfriend forever. He is all I want, whether that includes a wedding ring or not. It just so happens that it does.


End file.
